Mindgames
by Pangur Ban
Summary: An accidental encounter sets wheels in motion for Jarod, Sydney, and Angelo - but will things careen out of control? 12 parts. MOSTLY PG/PG13, SOME R IN PART 8.
1. Default Chapter

Mindgames – Part 1

by **Pangur Bàn**

Rating (PG, PG13, R) : PG13   
Spoilers : probably

Summary: Jarod runs into someone who knows him well.****

**Disclaimer:  Steven Long Mitchell & Craig W. Van Sickle created the characters of the television series "The Pretender."  This fan fiction is purely for entertainment purposes (chiefly my own, admittedly.)  No profit is being made here. No infringement is intended.  **

*****     *****     *****     *****     *****     *****     *****     *****     *****

Jarod didn't have time to yell, or even to think.  He spun the wheel hard to the left, narrowly missing the little girl who had appeared out of nowhere. His small car teetered on the outside wheels, but slammed back down to earth with a molar-pounding jolt.  He grunted as he bounced around behind the wheel, trying to bring the beast to a halt.  The girl's shrill scream didn't even register as he fought for control of the vehicle.  The car slammed up a curb and spun onto the sidewalk, coming to rest – finally – in the midst of a cafe's tiny outdoor seating area.  With sickening certainty, he pried himself from the car and raced to the person who had been thrown against the wall by the impact.  

It was a woman, trying with little success to get her arms to push her to a semi-seated position.  He quickly knelt beside her, grasping her upper arms gently but firmly.  "Just take it easy," he started, and then stopped.  The look of astonishment and fear on her face stunned him.  She froze for a moment, then did her best to scramble backwards into the brick facade, away from Jarod.

Jarod released her arms immediately, holding his hands up.  "Hold on, I'm not going to hurt you.  I want to help."  Her eyes locked on his face, and he had yet to see her draw a breath.  He tried again.  "You need to hold still."  Her eyes grew distant, then closed out the world.

***   ***   ***   ***   ***

Jarod paced the area just outside of the emergency room curtain area.  She was conscious and stable.  A nice concussion made it hard to concentrate, but she seemed to have escaped more serious injury.  

Jarod had lied to the EMT's and the hospital staff, telling them he was her friend.  He had just barely managed to overhear enough of the information the crew had dug out of her purse to get her name and hometown.  No one else had come forward at the scene, and Jarod had quite uncharacteristically panicked.  He was responsible for her injury and needed to stay near.  He admitted readily to being the driver of the car and climbed in the ambulance with her.  At the hospital, he cooperated with the police, giving them enough information to satisfy them for the moment.  They took him at his word when he rapidly invented lie after lie, fabricating a slightly incoherent but believable story.  They figured he was distraught at having injured his friend, and would continue the interview a little later.

For now, Jarod was on pins and needles.  He hovered just outside the curtain, listening to the exam proceed.  Each new report to the doctor increased his sense of relief.  No broken bones, skull series negative, neuro exam was encouraging, labs looked reasonable...  He was itching to get in and see her himself, but was afraid of her possible reaction to the sight of him.  "Come on, come on," he muttered to himself, willing the medical personnel out of the exam room.  

As if in response, the speaker from the dispatcher phone came to life, announcing the pending arrival of a critical case.  MVA, PNB – Jarod's mind translated without thinking, motor vehicle accident, pulseless non-breathing.  He only half-followed the recitation of vital signs, watching the curtain closely.  Personnel erupted from the room as rapid preparations for the new trauma got underway.

Jarod slipped behind the curtain, unnoticed.  The woman was half-reclined on the gurney, her eyes closed.  She turned her head toward him as he entered, and opened her eyes to a squint.

"Hello.  My name is Jarod," he said.

The woman smiled weakly and said "Hello.  I'm Grace."

"I know.  I was with you when they brought you in."  He hesitated, then continued.  "I was driving the car that hit you.  I am so sorry."

"Yeah, I recognize you.  I know it was an accident.  They told me that you swerved to miss a child."

"That's right."  Jarod's throat closed around the words.

"They said she's all right, right?"

He swallowed and nodded.  "Yes," he barely managed.

"Thank God."  Grace closed her eyes and turned her head back to center.  "Are you all right?"  she asked.

"I'm fine.  Grace, I..."

She smiled.  "It's okay, Jarod.  I'm glad you missed the girl.  I'll be fine.  Hit my head, I have a whopper of a headache and will probably see a black eye, but no major physical damage.  Of course, it'll probably be a while before I get the urge for a cup of coffee again."

Finally, Jarod smiled in return.  "A concussion," he said.  She nodded, a small movement – any motion made her dizzy and nauseous.  

"I appreciate your having stayed to make sure I'm all right," she said.  "Thank you."

"Is there someone I can call for you?" he asked.  

"No, thank you, though.  I'm from out of town."

"New London, I know."  She turned her head sharply to look at him, and regretted it immediately.  She closed her eyes against the two of him and the spinning room.  "The paramedics found your ID."

A nurse scurried in to check on her.  "How are you feeling?"

Grace smiled, not wanting to admit her queasiness.  "Tired."

"We don't want you to sleep just yet.  Can your friend stay with you for a while?  It's going to get pretty busy in a minute, and we don't have time to admit you right now."

"I can stay," said Jarod.  "I know what to do for a concussion."  He succinctly outlined the course of observation and indicator signals.  The nurse was impressed.  "I used to work neuro trauma," he told her.  The nurse paused to take a second look at him, and made a mental note to try to duck back in shortly.  She made a show of arranging Grace's blanket and plumping her pillow, which had the patient fighting down yet another wave of nausea.  The nurse, her eye on the handsome stranger across the bed from her, never noticed.

The doors to the ambulance bay banged open on their pneumatic tracks, and chaos erupted.  The nurse smiled one last time at Jarod and left the curtain area.  Grace opened one eye tentatively.  "Is it safe?" she asked weakly.

Jarod laughed quietly.  "She was a bit – enthusiastic, wasn't she?"  He pulled the curtain shut, as if to help with noise abatement, then reached for the low stool.  He explained that she needed to stay awake for a little while, and they talked in low tones.  Her head continued to pound, but mercifully the nausea subsided somewhat.  They were both startled when the curtain was flung back and a strange doctor bustled in.

"Okay, Ms... Hanover, I'm Doctor Richardson," she said.  "I've been called in to help out.  Looks like a concussion, huh?"  She walked around the head of the gurney, scanning the chart as she moved.  Dropping the metal clipboard on Grace's legs, she pulled a small light from her coat pocket and rapidly examined the patient's eyes, then moved her finger up and down, side to side, in front of Grace's nose.  "How is she doing, Mr. Hanover?"

"He's not my husband," Grace said.

"I'm a friend," Jarod said.  He quickly reported out all the salient facts.  The doc was satisfied.  Are we releasing her to you?" she asked.

Jarod didn't miss a beat.  "Yes.  I'm taking her home, I'll watch her tonight."  Grace started to protest, but the doctor was already on the way out of the room.  "I'll get her discharge instructions..."  The rest was lost as the MD was already on her way into the next curtain area.

"Jarod, you don't have to do this.  You've already been a big help," Grace said.

"Would you rather spend the night in the hospital?" he asked kindly.  She hesitated, and he continued.  "Don't worry.  I'll be a perfect gentleman."

She already knew enough about him to recognize he would not hurt her.  She was too tired to offer more than a token protest.  "I'm not your responsibility."  

He dropped his voice. "Please, let me do at least this.  I want to.  Really."

***   ***   ***   ***   ***

As instructed, he woke her every half hour to check on her responses.  It got old very quickly.  By the third time he woke her, she had gone from thinking him a sweet and generous man to understanding a little of why Miss Parker so enjoyed hunting him like a dog.  She begged for a reprieve – just a couple of hours of uninterrupted sleep.  He was encouraged by her status, and relented a bit.  

By morning, she felt a little more rested, if not refreshed.  Jarod made sure she was doing all right before leaving her apartment for a few hours.  He promised to return that afternoon to check on her.  Grace tried to convince him that he needn't bother, but he cheerily waved her off as he left.  She sighed and moved slowly to the bathroom, trying without any measure of success to shake off the nightmares that were not her own.

***   ***   ***   ***   ***

The midday sun lit the room to an uncomfortable brightness, and Grace pulled the shade.  She returned to the couch, tapping the end of the cell phone against her hand.  After a morning of debating the pros and cons of the situation, she made her decision.  Punching up the overseas number, she listened patiently for the connection to be made.  After a moment, a voice greeted her.

"Hello, is Mr. Carriveau available, please?  Grace Hanover calling....  Yes, thank you."

Jarod let himself in and heard her on the phone.  He put his bag down on the kitchen counter and heard her side of the conversation continue.

"Hello, Jon...  No, I'm not at the airport.  I'm still in the States.... Jon, listen – I'm not coming this weekend... I know.  Something's come up here.  I've met this man..."  She paused, then laughed.  "No, Jon, not like that.  Listen.  I've had a small accident... No, I'm not hurt badly.  I...  a concussion, but I'm doing fine.  No other injuries – but listen, Jon... No, I don't want you to come over.  Jon, listen!"  

She paused and took a deep breath, closing her eyes.  "The man who helped me right after the accident – he needs help.  He's looking for his family.  Thirty years ago, he was stolen from them as a child, and was told they were dead.  He only recently found out the truth about the people who have held him all this time... I know it does, but...  No, Jon, he didn't tell me this.  I – I saw it.  It's happening again, Jonnie."

Jarod had come around the corner to announce his presence, but she kept her eyes closed and hadn't seen him.  Now, stunned, he faded back a step, listening.  He glanced around quickly, looking for danger.  How could she know this?  Was she from the Centre?  If so, to whom was she talking, and why?

Grade continued, her voice deep with emotion.  "It must have been the head injury.  When he touched me, I – I wasn't ready for it, after all this time.  It just flooded in.  I couldn't stop it in time.  It was pretty bad, Jon."

She listened briefly, rubbing her head absently.  "No, I'm getting it under control.  I'm doing all right, really.  But I need to stay here.  I need to help him.  There's more to it than I can explain right now, but trust me, Jonnie – I need to do this as much for me as I do for him.  More so."  She paused again. "Yes, I remember...Yes, I'm sure...  Try not to worry, Jon.  I'll call you again in a few days...  I know you are, but try not to be, okay?  I'll be careful, I promise.  Call Peter and Tony for me, and make some excuse...  Yes, I'm sure.  I'll call you.  'Bye, Jon."

She broke the connection and exhaled, pulling at the muscles at the back of her neck.  Her eyes snapped open at Jarod's voice.  "Hello," he said darkly.

"Jarod.  I didn't see you there."  She smiled at her private joke, and he tensed at the smile.

"You're from the Centre," he accused.

Her smile disappeared as she understood he had heard her phone conversation.  "No, Jarod, I'm not.  At least, not like you're thinking."

He refused to be distracted.  "Who sent you?  Raines?  Lyle?"

"No.  I'm not here to hurt you, or bring you in.  Jarod, this is going to be hard to explain."

"Start with telling me who you are."

Grace looked at him closely.  He was suspicious and jumpy.  She would be too, given the threat he perceived.  "How about we start with this?  There's a gun in that drawer on your right."  She usually put it somewhere near her bed, but this morning had moved it, feeling better to know that it was a few steps closer.  She stopped herself from carrying it with her around the apartment, only because her frequent dizzy spells gave her pause to fear an accident with the firearm.  

Jarod squinted at her, and carefully pulled the drawer open.  He started to close the drawer, then took the gun. 

"It's the only one.  Feel any safer?" she asked.

"Start explaining."  He thought he was in tight control of his reactions, but was in no way prepared for her next words.

"I escaped from the Centre, too."

***   ***   ***   ***   ***

Of course, he was prudently skeptical.  And all things considered, his response was reasonable, if not particularly eloquent.  "What?"

"I was stolen as a child, like you were.  I was four.  I was put in Dr. Raines' – 'custody'.  He was allowed to... use me in his experiments."  She paused, trying to decide what he needed to hear next.  "Jarod, this is going to be a little hard to believe, but it's the truth.  Raines was doing some pretty unorthodox, and unethical, things to the children under his control.  He had no morals when it came to using and destroying people if it served to further his work."

"What did he do to you?" Jarod asked, still not convinced.

Grace took a deep breath.  "Psychic experiments.  He was concerned with developing the intuitive faculties.  His specific interest was in telepathic abilities.  He was trying to 'improve on' the remote viewing training experiments of World War II."  

"Remote viewing – as in a subject envisioning the particulars of a target area somewhere else."

"Right.  It was not particularly successful sixty years ago, but Raines thought he had a few 'modifications' that would work.  Particularly barbaric modifications.  Electroshock, psychopharmaceuticals, emotional/behavioral 'adjustment'... as you can imagine, nothing he'd want to publish along the lines of professional research."

Jarod could imagine.  He thought of how Raines had effectively erased Timmy's personality.  "Angelo," he said.

Grace nodded painfully.  It was through Jarod that she had discovered Timmy's fate, and she had been devastated.  "Timmy was brought to him just before I left."

"You said you escaped?  When?  How?"

"Twice.  Once, with help, when I was eight.  I couldn't handle it, however, and returned voluntarily.  Then again three years later."

Jarod narrowed his eyes.  A child of eleven, outwitting Centre security?  Grace took a deep breath and said, "Jarod, I know this sounds crazy, but – you want to know how I know about you.  It's because I read your mind."  

She let the words hang there in space, giving him time to think.  She was a little surprised that he responded fairly quickly.  "Telepathy?"  Grace raised her eyebrows and nodded.  "That's pretty unusual.  Why should I believe you?"

Grace said, "I can't answer that.  I can only tell you that it's true."

"Then tell me more about yourself.  You're implying that Raines taught you how to read minds."

"Inadvertently, yes.  He was actually trying to train me as a remote viewer, but I had a few unanticipated 'side effects.'  At first I didn't realize myself what was happening to me.  I spent so much time trying to please Dr. Raines, to achieve what he wanted me to, that I suppressed – and actually hid – this new ability.  I thought that I was 'doing it wrong,' and that he would be angry.  The last thing I wanted was to make him angry, so I didn't tell him about the pictures I was able to see.  Instead, I tried to use these images to figure out what I was supposed to see – my targets.  It only worked when my target was known to my testers.  I knew I was 'cheating,' and was terrified that Dr. Raines would find out.  My hit-and-miss record upset him, but gave him enough encouragement to continue his work – and my treatments."

"You said you escaped with help when you were eight."  Jarod sat down across from her, still holding the gun on his lap.

"A woman who worked at the Centre found out about the shock treatments, and took me out of there one night.  It was a disaster – I spent a wild two days, uncontrollable and miserable.  I was flooded with images – thoughts – of everyone I encountered.  I had no way to cope with it all.  At the Centre, I was only exposed to a few people at a time, but outside...  I was practically insane, and begged to be taken back.  She thought I was mentally disturbed -" Grace laughed a little, "- I guess I was.  She finally took me back, and I was 'found' hiding on another level.  It was assumed I'd been there all along, and nothing more came of it."

"And the second time?"

"Three years later.  By then I had learned to hide this ability pretty well from others.  I never let on to Dr. Raines that I could do this.  I spent the better part of the last year reducing my 'successes' in remote viewing, convincing Dr. Raines that the experiment was failing.  At the same time, I was picking up another skill – the ability to plant a suggestion in someone's mind, making them think it was their own thought."

"That's how you got out."

"Yes.  I had Dr. Raines thinking that my usefulness was ending, and it was time for him to get rid of me.  On the night I left, I gave him the thought that he had resolved the problem of how to do it, without his actually realizing that he hadn't.  I left him with a vague notion that it was taken care of."

"And you made the guards look the other way as you walked out?"

"That pretty well sums it up."

"A child of eleven out on the streets, alone."

"A particularly talented child of eleven.  Remember, I could influence people as I needed to.  I tried to keep the criminal stuff to a minimum – making people give me things I wanted – food, clothing – and spent a lot of time hiding from people."

"Hiding?"  Jarod was starting to believe her, and was fascinated by the story she was telling.

"You've got to understand, I was still seeing other people's thoughts at every turn.  It's something I grew to hate, and still do.  It's so – naked.  I heard people saying one thing, and saw that they meant another.  People think very ugly things in the privacy of their own minds, Jarod.  I hated them for thinking what they did, and grew to hate myself for knowing it.  I spent the next decade trying to avoid knowing people, mostly unsuccessfully.  I was depressed and antisocial, and miserable.  Eventually, I was suicidal."

"What did you do?"  Jarod was now totally immersed in her narrative.

Grace smiled at him.  "I tried to kill myself."  Jarod drew in a sharp breath.  She continued, "Or at least, I started to.  I was standing on a train platform, waiting for the next train, ready to jump."  

"But you didn't."  

"A thought popped into my head.  'Grace, don't do this.'  It took me a minute to realize, it wasn't my thought."

Jarod stared.  "What do you mean?"

Grace continued.  "Someone else had put that thought into my head, as clearly as if it had been spoken.  For a minute, I thought that there was another woman named Grace about to do the same thing, and I looked around for her.  But there was no one else near the edge of the platform, and I was confused.  Then another thought.  'You're not alone, Grace.  I'll help you.  Don't do this.'  I took a step back as the train pulled up, and just stood there as the passengers got on and off.  When the platform emptied, there was just me and one other man there."

Jarod had a sudden flash of insight.  "Your friend Jon."

It was Grace's turn to stare, startled.  She shook her head, and winced at the dull roar that erupted from the constant headache she had.  "How did you get that?!"

Jarod grinned.  "A lucky guess."  

She laughed a little shakily with the pain.  "Yeah.  It was Jon.  He spoke to me, called me by name.  We sat on that bench and talked for hours.  It was freezing, and I damn near got frostbite in my feet, but I didn't care.  It was the first time I felt like someone really knew me and understood what I was feeling."

"He had the same talents.  He could see your thoughts, too."

"I had honestly thought that I was either insane or the only one who could do this.  Jon let me know this wasn't so.  He saw how completely miserable I was, took me in.  He taught me how to handle this.  I spent years learning to suppress it."

"That must have been difficult.  Like learning to ignore your sight or your hearing."

"Very difficult.  I had some memorable slip-ups, but over a period of time, I got a pretty good hold on it.  The stray thoughts of others became a dull whisper, like static, and I learned to tune it out with ease."

"Jon sounds like a good friend."

"My best friend.  He not only taught me how to survive with this, he taught me how to live again.  He gave me a job I could handle during all this, made me feel useful, and not alone.  He never pushed it on me, but let me know that others, including he himself, had this ability under control and lived with it.  He offered to teach me how to use it, but all I wanted was to turn it off.  And, eventually, I did."

"You turned it off altogether?"

"Until yesterday, Jarod, it's been more than nine years since I've even heard the static.  I really thought I had lost the ability altogether.  I hoped that the effects of Raines' treatments had worn off, that I had healed, to some extent.  I didn't expect it to happen any more.  That's why I wasn't ready for you – why I saw inside your head."

"You said to Jon that it flooded in when I touched you."

"It's been so long, Jarod, I wasn't able to shut it down soon enough.  I'm sorry.  I didn't mean for it to happen, but...  I'm sorry, Jarod."

"It was an accident, wasn't it?"

She hung her head, and said quietly, "That doesn't change the fact that I invaded your privacy."

"Or that I hit you with my car."

"It's not the same thing."

"No, I suppose not."  Jarod grew quiet for a minute, replaying the memory of the look on her face when he touched her.  Astonishment and fear.  Her retreat from him, from his touch.  Suddenly understanding something else, he said, "Grace, I'm sorry I invaded your privacy, too."

Grace jerked her head up, surprised.  He spoke softly.  "Just like I need my privacy of thoughts, so do you.  I invaded your thoughts with my own.  I'm sorry."  

Tears began to spill down her cheeks.  "It's not your fault, Jarod."

"No.  Neither was it yours.  Raines is the perpetrator here.  We are both his victims."

She nodded briefly, grateful for his words.  Unable to speak, she cried silently.  Jarod rose without a word and replaced the gun in the drawer.

***   ***   ***   ***   ***

Feedback can be sent to pangurban42@yahoo.com - and thank you. 


	2. Mindgames Part 2

Mindgames – Part 2

by **Pangur Bàn**

Rating (PG, PG13, R) : PG13   
Spoilers : probably

Disclaimer:  Steven Long Mitchell & Craig W. Van Sickle created the characters of the television series "The Pretender."  This fan fiction is purely for entertainment purposes (chiefly my own, admittedly.)  No profit is being made here. No infringement is intended.  

*****     *****     *****     *****     *****     *****     *****     *****     *****

They talked long into the night, discussing what Grace had seen in Jarod's mind.  The Centre was getting closer to Jarod again, with Jarod's clues and taunting, of course.  Grace had picked up on this, thus had wanted to keep her gun close.  She would no more let herself be taken in again than would Jarod.

They agreed that they needed to work together to bring the Centre down, but for the time being, had to keep stringing them along, if there were any hope of finding Jarod's parents and sister.

"What about your family, Grace?  Don't we want to find them, too?"

Pain flashed across her eyes.  "They're dead," she said simply.  

Jarod leaned in close.  He touched her hand in sympathy.  "I'm very sorry, Grace."  He said no more, but questioned with his eyes.

Grace took a deep breath.  "It took me years to get enough information to figure out who I was.  I had the help of some friends who knew how to search the Internet for public records, and were helping me research child abductions.  When I found the information I was looking for, I misunderstood it at first."  Her voice faltered slightly, then she continued.  

"Jarod, my family died in a fire the night I was taken."  Jarod closed his eyes, his lips a tight line.  She continued.  "My parents.  Three brothers.  Two sisters.  The house burned to the ground.  They pulled eight bodies out of the rubble the following morning."  

He opened his eyes and searched her face.  "Eight bodies?" he said, his voice deep.

She nodded, seeing his comprehension.   "That's what I had misunderstood.  I thought I was another missing child.  It was only after I began to explore the neighborhood, planning to contact the people I thought were my parents, that I found out about the rest of this.  Jarod, they kidnapped me, and put another little girl to die in my place.  So no one would miss me."  Her face was wracked with pain and guilt.  

"My God."  Jarod was appalled anew at the Centre's endless capacity for evil.  "How did you figure it out?"

Grace snorted.  "Would you believe, it was thanks to Raines and my 'gift'?  I was talking to a waitress in a diner in the neighborhood where the other girl was abducted.  Waiting for the parents to come home, I was just fishing for a little more information.  The waitress knew the story of the kidnapping, and was a talker.  Four cups of coffee later, I was getting ready to leave, when she mentions the fire.  She starts talking about 'that other poor family,' 'two tragedies in one night,' and suddenly I see her thinking – 'why, this woman looks just like the mother's family.'  The image she brought to mind was so striking, so much like me, that I spilled my coffee.  I got out of there and found the library.  I found the story in the news archives, and felt I was on the right track.  The more I read, the more certain I became.  I stayed in town for weeks until I finally worked up the courage to visit the parents of the other girl, without revealing who I was.  After I met the lady, I knew the truth.  I was not her child.  Her daughter had died that night.  I was the child no one knew to miss."

"Bastards."   His single word was barely a whisper, and Grace didn't take notice.  

"I visited the gravesites, then left town.  I never went back, never told anyone what I had found out.  Not even Jon – he only knows I was abducted.  Until now, I've never admitted who I am to anyone else."

"No wonder you were depressed."  Jarod couldn't imagine how it would feel, after years of searching for his identity and his family, to have believed you finally found it all, then have it all destroyed in front of you.  He shivered involuntarily.  At least he knew his family was still out there, alive, if in danger.  He still had a chance to help them, and to be reunited with them.  If they were indeed his family...  He shuddered again, and put that thought away.  

They sat in quietly for a few minutes, each in their own thought.  Grace was surprised when the silence was shattered by Jarod's next words.

"I need to see Sydney."

"Sydney?"  She knew who Sydney was, of course.  Jarod nodded grimly.  "I have to get to him."

"You can't go back there."

"I'll have to get him away from the Centre.  Somewhere safe, without making them suspicious."

"What do we do?" she asked.  Jarod was grateful at the way she included herself without a second thought.  The rest of the night, what little there was of it, passed as they discussed options and made plans.  Together they sanitized her apartment, making sure there was no clue to her real identity that might be found by a sweeper team, if the Centre should investigate her.  Jarod left her to get a few hours' sleep while he returned to his own place.  He worked at a frantic pace, inventing computer records, planting clues that would bring the Centre to Grace.  This aspect of the plan gave them both qualms – everything depended on Grace being just another one of Jarod's good deeds as far as the Centre was concerned.  Lastly, he packed up the things he would take with him, and glanced around his small flat.  All was in place for Sydney and Miss Parker to find.  

Now all that was left was to get Grace into place to wait for the Centre.  He drove to her apartment in the cheap used car he had picked up the previous morning to replace his damaged one.  She was awake and ready for him, two small bags packed.  One Jarod would take with him; the other came with her into the hospital.  She admitted herself, claiming symptoms that indicated a more serious concussion than had been at first diagnosed.  Jarod had coached her on what to say and do, and it worked like a charm.  They immediately got her to a private room and settled her in.  As soon as she was alone, Jarod slipped in.  

"They took the bait.  They're on their way.  I have my apartment and yours under electronic surveillance – we'll know as soon as they get there."

"Great.  Just the people I was hoping would visit," she said wryly.  

"Sydney, Miss Parker, Broots, and a few sweepers."  She made a face, and he smiled.  He saw right through the humor, though, and said gently, "Don't worry.  They won't know who you are, they'll just want to ask their questions and then get out of your life again.  I'll be nearby the whole time."  

She closed her eyes and nodded.  "I'm fine."  They talked quietly for a little while. Jarod had to duck out of sight twice as hospital personnel came in and out.  Finally she shooed him out of the room.  She closed her eyes and it seemed like no time at all had passed when he was shaking her gently.  She looked up at him now dressed in hospital scrubs – blending in with the scenery, no doubt.

"They're on their way to the hospital.  They should be here in a few minutes."

"What time is it?" she asked, turning her head to look at the clock.  She was amazed at the vertigo that struck her like a sledgehammer.  "Six-twenty," Jarod told her.  She noticed a meal tray had been left on her table while she slept.  Jarod was eyeing the jello.  "You going to eat that?" he asked hopefully.  

"Help yourself," she offered.  Jarod grabbed up the plastic cup of jello happily.  He touched her hand.  

"Thanks.  And don't worry.  I'll be close."

"You're in more danger from that hospital jello than I am from the Centre," she quipped.  Jarod smiled at her, squeezed her hand, and slipped out of her room.

Ten minutes later she heard a quick knock on the door as Jarod passed by, to let her know that they were here.  Grace settled into her bed, purposely whipping her head from side to side.  She had an idea of her own.  

A strident knock on the door made her wince.  The door was opened before she could answer, and Miss Parker marched into the room, followed by Broots and Sydney.  "Ms. Hanover?  We have a few questions for you."

Grace looked at her stupidly, and made her wait for a minute.  Parker tried again.  "Ms. Hanover?"

"Who are you?" Grace said thickly.

"Miss Parker, please," Sydney interrupted.  Parker glared at him, but let him try.  "Ms. Hanover, my name is Sydney.  How are you feeling?"

Grace turned her head to look at Sydney on the other side of the bed.  She heard Parker say "This isn't a social call, Freud."

Sydney glanced up at her, then returned his eyes to the woman in the hospital bed.  "We heard you were in an accident the other day.  Do you remember the accident?"

Grace threw him a bone, mostly to irritate Miss Parker.  "I was hit by a car," she slurred.

"That's right," Sydney encouraged.  "You've a concussion."

"My head," Grace muttered.

"Ms. Hanover, we think that a friend of ours may have been in the car that hit you.  The police say he brought you into the hospital that night, then checked you out.  Do you remember?"

"Headache."  Grace was enjoying this more than she thought she would.  These people posed her no immediate threat, and she was especially enjoying jerking Miss Parker's chain a bit.

"Can you remember the man?" Sydney repeated.  Grace closed her eyes and feigned exhaustion.  Outside her room, she heard a code blue announced and heard feet running past her door.

"Brought me home.  Dropped me off.  No. Stayed a while.  Kept waking me up."

"Was this the man?"  Sydney pulled a photograph of Jarod from his suit jacket under his overcoat.  Grace kept her eyes closed and added, "For my head.  Waking me up."

"Is this the man?" he asked again.

"Oh, for God's sake," Parker said, exasperated.  She grabbed the photo from his hand and roughly turned Grace's head back to her side of the bed.  "Miss Parker!" both men protested.  She ignored them and demanded, "Open your eyes, Sleeping Beauty!  Look!  Is this the man who ran you down?"

Grace opened her eyes wide, concentrating on the dizziness and nausea that had been her constant companions for more than two days, and on the cold soup she had forced down before her three visitors arrived.  It took very little effort on her part to bring that soup back up and over the bed rail.  Not a direct hit, but she noticed the splatter factor claimed two expensive shoes as casualties, and laid her head back on the pillow.

"Oh, gross!"  Broots exclaimed.  Any urge he had to laugh was quelled by the withering glare Parker somehow managed to give them both simultaneously.  She turned and left the room.  Broots looked at Sydney and cracked wise, "Maybe you ought to get a better picture of Jarod."

"See if you can get a nurse in here," Sydney told Broots.  Broots left the room and Sydney reached for a washcloth.  He was worried about the danger of her choking, and spoke to her gently.  "I'm going to help you turn on your side," he said, slowly turning her toward him at the shoulder and hip.

Grace opened her eyes and looked directly at him.  He was surprised to see her eyes clear and purposeful, as was her voice when she spoke.  

"Sydney, Jarod needs to see you."

Sydney blinked.  "Where is he?"  

"Take this."  From under the blanket, she handed him an airline ticket in its folder.  "Check your email – there'll be an excuse for you to stay in town overnight.  Be at O'Hare tomorrow.  You'll be given further instructions on the plane."

"Is he all right?" Sydney began, but stopped as Broots returned.  The ticket was slipped, unnoticed, into an inner pocket in the overcoat.  

"The nurses are all busy with a code blue," Broots reported.  Sydney nodded, and dipped the washcloth in the jug of water on Grace's bedside table.  He wiped Grace's forehead carefully.

Miss Parker stormed back in.  She stopped short at the sight of Sydney helping the moron who had ruined her shoes.  "Just what do you think you're doing?" she asked disbelievingly.  

"We can't just leave her like this," Sydney said, continuing his ministrations.  "The nurses are all busy," Broots supplied, earning yet another wrathful stare.  "Um, a code blue, you know..."  Broots trailed off as she advanced on him.  Parker changed her mind about whatever bodily harm she was contemplating, and ignored him in favor of the psychologist.

"Does she know where Jarod went?" Parker demanded evenly, dangerously.

"Jarod left her yesterday morning, while she was feeling better.  He told her he had pressing business, but would call her in a few days," Sydney lied smoothly.  He was the only one to see the tiny twitch at one corner of Grace's mouth.  Grace was still on her side, her back to Parker and Broots, and she closed one eye in a wink for Sydney.  He put a hand to his mouth to cover a twitch of his own.

"We're out of here," Miss Parker declared.  She turned, and spoke over her shoulder.  "You coming, Florence Nightingale?"  

Sydney put the washcloth down.  "Ms. Hanover, do you think you'll be all right until the nurse gets here?"  

"Fine," she said weakly.  

"Make sure you stay on your side," he instructed.  "Is there anything you want?"

"Come ON, Sydney," Parker exploded.  Broots was already at the door.

Sydney nodded at Miss Parker.  "Good bye, Ms. Hanover.  Thank you for your help.  I hope you feel better soon."  He was amused to see Parker throw up her hands and practically plow through Broots on her way out.  He touched Grace's hand lightly, and followed his companions.

In the corridor, Parker turned to face Sydney.  "What the hell was all that about?"

Unflappable, Sydney couldn't resist tweaking her just a bit.  "Concussion victims often experience severe vertigo and violent nausea.  Any sudden movement, such as turning one's head, can trigger very – unpleasant – reactions.  My concern is that she should not lose consciousness and choke." 

"Fine.  Now what?  Get you a red- and white-striped apron?"

"I suggest we check in with the Centre, arrange for surveillance on Jarod's apartment, and get some dinner.  Chicago has some fine restaurants.  Any preferences, Broots?"

"Oh, I'm happy with whatever comes up," Broots replied, thoroughly enjoying himself.

Miss Parker looked from one of them to the other.  She opened her mouth to let them have it, but they had already started down the hall.  She closed her eyes and exhaled sharply through her nose before following them.

Watching from a nearby room, Jarod made sure the elevator doors had closed behind the trio before slipping back into Grace's room.  He was assaulted by the sick odor.  "Are you all right?" he asked worriedly.

"Dandy.  Had a small accident.  On Miss Parker's shoes, unfortunately."  Grace was pleased with her little improvisation.

Jarod had to laugh, in spite of himself.  "Oh, my.  I don't imagine she was pleased."

"You must be psychic," Grace chuckled.

"Did Sydney get the message?"

"Yeah.  He covered well – I think he'll come."

"Good."  Jarod turned his concern to Grace.  "What can I do to help you now?"

"You can make your flight in this evening, and be waiting for us.  I'll get him there, Jarod."  

"What about you, tonight?"

"I'll be fine.  The nurse will be in in a minute.  You'd better get moving.  Remember to alter the hospital records tomorrow."  They were anticipating Centre surveillance, and wanted to give the appearance of Grace's continued hospitalization when in fact she would be leaving the next day.

"I'll remember.  You're sure you'll be all right?"

"I'm sure, so long as I stay away from the hospital food," Grace said, grimacing.

***    ***   ***   ***   ***

Feedback can be sent to pangurban42@yahoo.com - and thank you. 


	3. Mindgames Part 3

Mindgames - Part 3

by **Pangur Bàn**

(With thanks to La Lurker, whose images fire my imagination.)

Sydney felt the two pairs of eyes on him as he stood over his small bag in the airport gate.  Sweepers.  The Centre was watching him.  Oh, well, he'd dealt with this before.  He'd picked up on the tail as he left his hotel today.  Arriving at the airport, he consulted the departures monitors and found his gate.  Quickly he located another, suitable flight, this one going to Wilmington, Delaware, boarding at a gate nearby.  Dover would have been better, but was a later flight, boarding further away.  He made a show of checking his watch, then got in line to buy a ticket.  Now he stood, thankful for the building crowd and the lack of empty seats.  He just needed an opportunity to slip away.

***   ***   ***   ***   ***

In the restroom, Grace looked up at the girls towering over her.  They regarded her from behind menancing, half-closed eyelids.  Grace reached into her pocket and brought out a wad of bills.  

"Two hundred."  The eyes narrowed further.  Grace smiled.  "A little extra."  She handed the packet to one of the girls, and addressed another, obviously the leader.  "You're clear on what I need?"

The tall girl smiled back.  "No problem.  We'll give 'em a show."

"Be careful.  Don't let security tag you."

Another girl laughed.  "Ain't no way."  

The leader was confident.  "Just give me the sign.  We'll keep 'em busy."

"Good.  Thanks for your help," Grace said sincerely.

More laughter.  "Next time you need help like this, call us."

The group slipped out of the bathroom.  Grace picked up her things and followed a moment later.  She made her way to the gate where she had spotted Sydney, and his tail, of course.  Making sure that she had a clear path to him, she made eye contact with the tall girl who was watching her and nodded.

"Bitch!  You keep yo skanky hands offa my man!"

All heads turned, Sydney's included.  The catfight erupted suddenly and loudly, a dozen feet from the Sweeper pair.  Sydney was just beginning to recognize his opportunity when he heard a quiet greeting.  Startled, he turned to see Grace in front of him, smiling.

"Quickly.  Take off your coat."  She reached for the overcoat hanging over his arm as he rapidly removed his suit coat.  "Put these on."  She held out a well-aged leather flight jacket and a leather baseball cap.  Rifling his pockets, she found the ticket she had given him the previous evening.  Grace turned and handed his garments to another tall, greying man.  Sydney paused.  This man could have been a brother to him, although not quite a twin.  The double was hurriedly donning the coat.  The psychologist understood immediately, but hesitated.  "My things," he said.

"They'll all be returned," Grace urged, "Hurry now."  She took his arm and led him through the crowd.  Behind them, a trash container was overturned as the catfight continued.  The Sweepers looked across the gate, and spotted their charge benignly watching the spectacle, as was everyone.  They nodded at each other, and then turned back in time to see a flash of breast.  They smiled at each other, and were disappointed when just a minute later the fight broke up and the girls scattered as security arrived.  

Four gates down, Grace and Sydney huddled against a wall.  They watched as the Wilmington flight was called and Sydney's double boarded.  The Sweepers immediately made a call, and left the gate after the ramp door had been locked.

And came directly at them.  Grace grabbed Sydney by the waist and swung him around, his back toward the Sweepers.  There faces were close, and for a moment Sydney thought she was going to kiss him.  The two men passed by without incident.  Sydney laughed a little as she released him.  She smiled up into his face.  "How's that for a little drama?"

He raised his eyebrows.  "I have the distinct impression that it's only just begun."

***   ***   ***   ***   ***

They settled into their seats.  She spoke softly, giving him the barest details.

"Okay, here's the deal.  I need to get you to a place where we can talk.  You need to decide whether or not you want to take the risk of seeing Jarod."

"I'll risk it."  Sydney didn't hesitate.  

Grace took a breath and continued.  "This is different.  The Centre is obviously watching you, and your disappearance now would undoubtedly make things much worse.  There are a few things you have to hear before you can make this decision."

"Such as?"

She shook her head.  "Not here.  All you need to know now is that we have arranged an alibi for you, if you decide it's best to not to see Jarod and return to the Centre.  That's about all I can tell you at the moment.  That, and we'll get into Detroit in an hour.  We'll talk there.  Think you can live with that for now?"

He looked up at the sky – or rather the bottom of the overhead storage compartment.  "For now.  But I'm most curious to hear how you arranged all this."

"What would you like to drink?" the stew interrupted.  "Ginger ale?" Grace asked.  Her stomach was still touchy.  She handed her peanuts to Sydney and leaned back, hoping the Dramamine would kick in.

***   ***   ***   ***   ***

In Detroit, the pair made their way to the exit and Grace led them to a hotel shuttle.  At the desk, she picked up a key for the room Jarod had reserved for her.  Sydney, a little on edge from all the intrigue, followed her with just a bit of trepidation.

They dropped their things inside the door.  Moving into the suite, Grace was pleased to see a room service cart waiting for them.  Sydney picked up the note on the cart and recognized Jarod's hand.  "Sydney – believe what she has to tell you.  Be careful.  –J.  P.S.  Try the trifle."  Looking up, he smiled at Grace.  "Jarod recommends the trifle.  He's developed quite the sweet tooth in the last few years."

Grace was opening a bottle of seltzer water.  "Dig in – we can eat while we talk."  Sydney uncovered a couple of Waldorf salads, a plate of paté and a couple of baguettes.  He carried them to the table and laid the spread before them.

Grace sat down and tore off a piece of baguette.  Sipping her water, she watched as Sydney tried the salad.  He grunted as he realized how hungry he was.  He swallowed a mouthful, and then looked up.  "Can you tell me how you met Jarod?"

"Just like you know – a car accident.  He really did swerve to miss a child, and I got in the way."

"Ms. Hanover, is he all right?"

"Please, call me Grace.  Yes, he's all right.  He needs to talk to you, and wants to do it face-to-face.  To do that safely, we needed to get you out of sight of the Centre for a while."

Grace nibbled at the bread and sipped at the water.  She talked while Sydney ate.  By the time he had opened the bottle of Bordeaux and cut into a Bosc pear, she had filled him in on what Jarod had discovered about the Centre's surveillance of Sydney.  Now came the more difficult part.  

"Sydney, Jarod's not the only child the Centre has abducted."  Sydney looked at her as she went on.  "Nor is he the only one to have escaped from there."

He leaned forward slightly.  "His brother, Kyle."  

She nodded.  "And me," she said quietly.

Sydney put down the pear slowly.  "What?" he breathed.

"I was one of Dr. Raines' experiments."  She kept her voice even, not wanting to sound like she was accusing the man across from her.  "Apparently, very few people knew about me.  This experiment was kept pretty dark."

Sydney hesitated, searching her eyes for permission to ask.  Finding it, he did.  "Grace, what did he do to you?"

Slowly, she told him what she had told Jarod.  He sat back listening, thinking of Jarod's note: "Believe what she has to tell you."  When it came to the Centre, the unbelievable happened almost daily.  Still, this was hard to accept.  Sydney recognized that part of his reluctance stemmed from his connection with the organization that did such despicable things.  And look at what Angelo could do.  But mind-reading?

When she stopped, he looked at her frankly.  "What you are telling me is difficult to believe."  She agreed.  "You said you saw practically all of Jarod's life in an instant.  That you can 'see' other's thoughts and memories at will."  She nodded.  "Can you see my thoughts?"

"I don't do that."  she said.  

"But could you?" he insisted.

She was afraid where this might be leading.  "Yes," she admitted slowly.

"Show me."  The words fell like a hammer blow.

Grace sighed.  "Sydney, you have to understand.  This is a very distasteful thing to do.  It's not a parlor game, not something to do for amusement.  It's invasive and unsettling.  Even if you don't think so now, it's something that will most likely come back and disturb you – and me – later on."

"I need to be sure."  

"Jarod's word isn't enough for you?"  It was a low blow, but he stood firm.  Before he would accept her story – and by extension, his culpability, even though in ignorance – he wanted absolute proof.

She tried her best to scare him off.  "You'd have no way to stop me.  If I choose, I could rummage around in your mind – mentally rape you.  There's nothing you could do about it."

"If what you say is true, there's nothing I could do about it right now.  If you had that in mind, you wouldn't need an invitation from me to read my mind," he said reasonably.  

Grace stood, frustrated.  He would not be put off, she saw.  And, quite frankly, he had a right to want to see it for himself.  He was being asked to risk his life, after all.  

She turned to face him.  He waited patiently, his expression calm.  Her shoulders slumped, and he knew she had agreed to his request.  Moving back to the table, she pulled her chair around to face his.  She sat down.

"I promise you, I'm not going to do that."  He nodded.  "I trust you."  

"Great," she said to the ceiling.  "He trusts me not to hurt him, so that I can prove to him that I'm capable of hurting him."  He smiled a little at that.

"What do I do?" he asked.

"Give me just a minute first.  In the meantime, think of something visual, some object with a personal and private meaning to you.  You'll want to be thinking of only that image and what it means to you, nothing else."  He nodded.

She closed her eyes and took a steady breath, then another.  She reopened her eyes and saw him waiting patiently for her.  Grace extended a hand, and he took it.   "It's not too late to change your mind," she offered.  He shook his head.  Grace nodded in return, and dropped her gaze to his knee.  

"Flowers."  Her voice was almost a whisper.  Sydney froze.  She continued.  "A stone wall.  White roses.  You think of them as 'Gretas' – they were one of your mother's passions."  A brief pause.  Sydney wasn't breathing.  "Jacob planted them – the year you bought the house.  A kind of memorial – to your roots," she smiled up at him.''

The look on his face told her all she needed to know.  She released his hand gently and sat back.  

"Mon Dieu," he breathed, unable to say more.

"It was a good choice of image," she said. He stared at her, then blinked.  "You're bleeding."

She furrowed her brow, and reached up to touch her nose.  Her fingertip found the trickle, and she examined it with dull surprise.  

"Here."  Sydney was offering a linen napkin from the table.  She took it with thanks, and applied pressure.  "Are you all right?" he worried.

"I'm fine," she said nasally, smiling.  "Don't worry.  This has happened before.  It'll stop quickly.  Although I must admit, I'm surprised it happened now.  This was not a difficult task."  She wanted to laugh at his expression.  "And no, you're not an open book."

Sydney's face went stony.  Those were the exact words he had just been thinking.  "Are you reading my mind now?"

"God, no, Syd – I'm reading your face.  I just meant it was a good image, and your mind seems well-disciplined, and compatible."  She reached across with her free hand to touch his leg, and he stiffened.  She withdrew her hand and cursed silently.  "Sydney, listen."  Her voice was nasal and muffled.  Irritated by it, she put the napkin down.  "I'm not in your mind now.  It's over.  You have my word.  And in this case, the touching really has nothing to do with it – it's just a device, like concentrating on a candle flame."

Sydney forced himself to relax a little.  "I had just been thinking, God, I hope I'm not that much of an open book."  He laughed, a little shakily, still keeping an eye on her.

She sighed.  "Yeah.  Your expression said as much.  This is what I was talking about, Syd.  'The morning after' regrets."

He nodded.  "I'm sorry.  I do trust you.  It's just all a little..."

"Spooky?" she suggested with a smile.

"Unnerving," he said, a little louder than he'd meant to.  

"Welcome to the club," she said dryly.  She stood and walked a few steps, then turned back.  "Well, what's the verdict?"

"It's incredible," he said.  

"Incredible as in wow, or as in you still don't believe it?" she asked.

"I absolutely believe you.  I'm sorry to have doubted you at first."

"That's an awful lot to get hit with at once," she said kindly.  "Quite frankly, I sometimes don't believe it myself."

"My God!  What must that be like?  To actually know what another person is thinking?"

She laughed and sat down again.  "I'd think that in your job, you'd do that all the time."

"No.  I can make an educated guess, or at best, be confident that I'm right about what they are thinking.  But to actually _know_ it for a fact.  My God!"

Her face grew pensive.  She snorted lightly.  "Well, turnabout is fair play," she said.

"What?"  He wasn't following her.  

She was looking at him meaningfully.  "This kind of connection – it's a two-way street," she said.  "Most people wouldn't think that, or even if they did, couldn't exploit it.  And to be honest, Sydney, even if they had an awful lot of skill in this, I wouldn't let them try it.  Anyone who tried to force their way into my head, I'd fight tooth and nail.  It would probably do a lot of damage to me and to them."

She went on.  "Okay, I guess that's my way of warning you.  I won't let you poke around in my mind.  But if you want to know what it's like to see another person's thoughts, we can do that."

He was floored.  "How could I possibly..."

"Like I said, a two way street.  It's up to you.  You don't have to decide right now, if you..."

"Yes."  He didn't hesitate.  

"You should consider the same things.  It's just as disturbing to be the looker as the lookee.  And there's a high level of trust involved."

"What do I do?" he asked.

"Okay, let's try it.  You need to clear your mind as best you can."

Sydney quelled his nervous excitement and focused on his breathing.  She watched him as she did the same.  After a moment, she rubbed her hands together, then held them out to him.  They held hands lightly.  "Close your eyes," she said, slowly and evenly.  "Put all else aside.  For this moment, there is nothing else except the warmth of our hands and the space between us."  She felt his calm, and continued.  "Imagine your mind extending across this space, toward mine.  A conduit, ending in a window."

Sydney envisioned a window.  He saw a rough wooden sill, the paint beginning to peel.  He imagined the feel of the wood and paint flakes as he placed his hands on the sill.  He looked through the window.

And saw Catherine Parker.  She was bending down toward him.  _Come on, honey,_ she was saying.  _We're going to get you out of here._  In a flash, he understood that he was seeing through a child's eyes, Grace's eyes.  Her memory.  He felt Catherine's hand take Grace's/his, and saw the dark corridor as they moved quickly and urgently through it.  He heard the elevator doors close and felt the slight lurch as they started up.  Catherine knelt down and reached for her/his wrist.  _Here_, she was saying, _let's get this off of you.  You aren't his property any more..._

Sydney gasped as his eyes flew open.  Grace started at the shock, and dropped his hands.  "It's okay, Syd, it's okay.  It's over.  We're both okay."  She rubbed her head and laughed ruefully.  "We may both wind up with a bit of a headache from that.  It was a – less than graceful – disconnect."

He was staring at her.  "Did you put that image in my head?  Had you seen it there?"

Grace's heart sunk.  It had seemed like a good idea at the time, but now she was regretting having started this.  He was once again distrustful of her, it seemed.  

She shook her head.  "No, Sydney.  That image was in my head, not yours.  You were seeing my memory.  You recognized the woman, I know."

"I'm not talking about Catherine Parker.  I'm talking about the bracelet."

Grace's hand moved toward her wrist, and she looked at him closely.  "It was engraved on the inside, wasn't it?" he insisted.  "'SL-27'?"

Grace was astonished.  "You've seen them before?"

"One.  Miss Parker has one."

Grace's mind raced.  Horrified, she thought, surely Miss Parker wasn't a captive there, was she?  She understood better when Sydney said, "She found it among her mother's things.  In an envelope marked 'rescued', along with a group of papers, children she had helped rescue from the Centre."

Grace nodded.  "They all seemed to be infants, though.  I remember thinking it odd that I was the only older child that she rescued, or tried to."

"When was this?" he queried.

"1966.  I was eight years old."

"And you returned to the Centre, then escaped on your own later."

"Late 1969," she confirmed.

"Did you know that she planned to help at least two other older children to escape before she was killed?"

Grace looked away, ashamed.  "Jarod and Timmy.  I know.  I threw away the chance they never got."

Sydney's voice was gentle.  "From what you've told me, Raines had hurt you so badly that there was no way for you to survive away from the Centre then."

She shut her eyes, knowing she needed to tell someone about the guilt that had been gnawing at her for days.  She couldn't bring herself to open her eyes, to see Sydney looking at her while she said this.  

"What Raines did to Timmy. That was because of me.  Because I hid what I could do.  If I had let Raines see, he might not have destroyed that little boy."

"Grace."  He wanted her to open her eyes.  "Grace!"  She refused, shaking her head.  He reached across the space between them and took her hand.  "If Raines had seen what you could do, don't you think he'd have tried to do the same to Timmy – and to others?"

"Maybe.  And maybe Timmy would have survived it, like I did."

"What if Timmy hadn't found a friend in time to save his life, to help him, like you did?"

A sob escaped.  Sydney waited until she could look at him before he continued.  "You had to save yourself.  You had no choice.  You were a child, Grace.  Raines was destroying you.  It's a miracle that you survived him, and another miracle that you survived after that.  You mustn't feel guilty for being alive and whole today."

"Tell that to Angelo."

***   ***   ***   ***   ***


	4. Mindgames Part 4

Mindgames – Part 4

by **Pangur Bàn**

Rating (PG, PG13, R) : PG13   
Spoilers : probably

Disclaimer:  Steven Long Mitchell & Craig W. Van Sickle created the characters of the television series "The Pretender."  This fan fiction is purely for entertainment purposes (chiefly my own, admittedly.)  No profit is being made here. No infringement is intended.  

 *****     *****     *****     *****     *****     *****     *****     *****     *****

Sydney decided to meet with Jarod.  Grace explained that they were arranging an alibi for his disappearance for several days.  The double who had taken Sydney's place at O'Hare had gotten on his flight to Wilmington, deplaning in Philadelphia.  He ducked into an airport bathroom and emerged a changed man.  The Sweepers who had been stationed to watch had to report that they had lost their quarry, much to the displeasure of Mr. Raines.  A search began for the missing psychologist, who at that moment was sitting in a hotel room in Detroit.

From Detroit they flew to Milwaukee.  Once again, a hotel shuttle delivered them to another pre-arranged room.  It was late when they got into the suite to find another note from Jarod, letting them know that he would be there in the morning and that breakfast was arranged.  He had left Grace's small bag in one room, and pajamas, toiletries and a change of clothing for Sydney in another.  After the day's travels and travails, they quickly agreed that a good night's sleep was highly attractive.  Within thirty minutes, each was in bed.  Sydney dropped off immediately.  Grace, on the other hand, lay awake for hours as she wrestled with the images that resurfaced in the still of the dark room.  After some time, she got up and sat on the floor, her back to the bed, willing herself through meditation to slow down.  The images abated for a while, and she finally fell into an exhausted sleep.

***   ***   ***   ***   ***

Sydney was an early riser.  He was washed, shaved and dressed well before seven, and sat reading quietly in the common area of the suite.  A soft knock on the door brought him to his feet.  "Room service," came the call through the door.  Sydney peered through the peephole and saw the red-vested waiter, his head bowed over the trolley.  He opened the door and watched the cart wheel past him, the smell of rich dark coffee awakening his sense of hunger. He dug into his pocket for some of the cash Grace and Jarod had provided.  He held a five-dollar bill out to the waiter.

"Keep it," the waiter said, straightening up to face him.

"Jarod!" smiled Sydney.  

"Did you sleep well?" the younger man inquired.  

"Yesterday was a busy day," Sydney admitted.  "Grace is still asleep."

Jarod handed his mentor a glass of orange juice and picked up another.  "Let her sleep.  She is still recovering from the concussion – and other things."

"She told me about her – condition."

"You believe her?"  
  


"Yes.  She showed me, reluctantly, at my insistence."

"I can imagine.  She doesn't like to do that."  Jarod drained his glass and poured two cups of coffee.  Sydney sat down across the table from him, leaning forward slightly.  "You're looking well, Jarod."

"We have a lot to talk about, Sydney."  Jarod's companion nodded, his eyes on the Pretender's face as Jarod continued.  "First, though, I need to know – did you know about Grace?  About what Raines was doing?"

Sydney's gaze stayed locked with Jarod's.  He shook his head as he spoke.  "Jarod, I swear to you, if I had known what he was doing to her, or to Timmy, I would have put a stop to it, at any price.  Raines' work was kept secret.  I never even heard he was working with a little girl.  There had been rumors of clandestine psychological experiments in those years, but nothing of this nature.  Raines' influence was considerable, even then.  I think he has had a protector quite high up in the Centre for a very long time."

Jarod looked at Sydney silently for a minute, evaluating what he'd heard.  At last he nodded, accepting his word.  "I want to help her, Sydney.  And we both want Raines and the Centre stopped."

"What can I do to help?"  With those six words, Sydney knew he had chosen the path from which he would not turn back, no matter what the consequences to himself.  He felt a tremendous sense of _this is it, this is right; this is what I need to be doing._  A certain measure of serenity, which had eluded him for many years now, returned.

***   ***   ***   ***   ***

The two talked for several hours, devouring most of the croissants and fruit, before they thought to wonder if Grace was all right.  They knocked carefully on her door, and then entered.  They found her sitting on the floor.  Slowly, she looked up at them dopily.  With an effort she brought herself back to the bright fall morning.  She answered their questions with light-hearted responses.  "I must have fallen asleep while meditating.  Geez, I'm stiff.  Give me a hand up, would you?"  They boosted her up until she was sitting on the edge of the bed.  Jarod and Sydney both watched her closely until she threw them out of her room, saying she wanted to shower and dress.  As the door closed behind them her good-natured smile faded.  Her face reflected the pain she felt, her head pounding, the images more insistent than ever.

Outside, Sydney looked at Jarod.  "She's not well."  

Jarod agreed.  "I think this is getting to her, and getting worse."  

"Can we find her friend, Jon?" Sydney asked.  "I've already found him," Jarod said.  "He's on his way here from England.  He'll be here this afternoon."    
  


"Jarod, I hate to say this, but..."  Sydney hesitated.

"My presence seems to cause her more distress," Jarod finished for him.  The older man nodded.  "Do you think it might be better if you – stayed out of her way for the rest of the morning?"  Jarod concurred grimly.  "Can you stay with her?  I'll bring her friend here when his flight gets in."

Jarod debated waiting for Grace to join them before departing himself, but decided to spare her any unnecessary discomfort.  He left quietly.  Grace felt her head clear somewhat, and misattributed it to the hot shower.  She had not yet figured out the correlation between Jarod's proximity and her worsening condition.  She did not know that Jarod had spent the night in the room directly below their suite – thus her uncomfortable night.

She walked into the main room to find that Sydney had ordered a fresh pot of coffee to be sent up.  He explained that Jarod had to run some errands, and they would see him in a few hours.  As she ate, he told her about his decision to work with them.  She was aware of the weight of his decision, and told him so.  He had taken care with her just the day before to try to help her understand that her guilt over Timmy's fate was out of place.  Now she recognized that his own guilt over his involvement with the Centre drove him to his demons, and he needed to hear that he too deserved some peace.

***   ***   ***   ***   ***

The midday found her in better spirits.  Sydney's company kept her distracted, and his gentle way was soothing.  Although the dark circles under her eyes testified differently, she was starting to believe that she was getting a handle on the worst of this.  A little more rest, she thought, should have her back on top.

"...Grace?  Are you all right?"  She slowly became aware of Sydney's anxious face, inches from hers, breaking through the fog of pain.  The tears were rolling down her face as she concentrated on the man in front of her.  By sheer will, she managed to push down the terrible images that had been playing in her mind.  She nodded, unable to speak.  Sydney took her hand and remained silent, realizing that her battle was a private one, and prayed for Jarod's arrival with Grace's friend Jon.  From what she had told him, Jon was the one person likely to be able to help her.

Grace inhaled deeply and blinked several times.  She smiled wanly, squeezed his hand and released it.  "Sorry about that.  I let myself get lost for a minute there.  What were you saying?"

Ignoring her question, he said, "It's getting worse, isn't it?"  

She looked at him and nodded shortly.  "I need to do a better job with the mental discipline.  I guess I've gotten pretty rusty."  She wiped the tear tracks away with the back of her hand and laughed shakily.  "Don't let this scare you.  I'll be fine, really."

Sydney was debating whether or not to tell her Jon was on his way.  Jarod had said not to, in case there was some delay, but perhaps she needed to know that she would have some help with this private battle she was waging.  He was about to tell her just that when the door opened.  Grace turned her head and smiled.  "There you are.  I was just thinking about you."  Sydney grunted quietly.

"Good things, I hope."  Jarod had a satchel in his hand, which he put on the floor.  "There's someone here who wants to see you."

"Me?"  Grace was baffled.  She looked briefly from Jarod to Sydney and back again.  "Who?"

A grey head poked around the corner, followed by the rest of the man.  Sydney and Jarod watched as Grace's face melted in pleasure and relief.  Her eyes closed, and an instant later she smiled delightedly, her friend responding in kind.  Opening her eyes, she moved quickly to the newcomer.  They embraced fiercely, his smile as broad as hers.  

"I'm here," he whispered.  "Thank God," she returned.

Pulling away a little, they kept an arm about each other.  "How in the world did you find me?" she asked.

"Jarod called me." Jon replied.  Astonished, she turned toward Jarod.  With only the slightest hint of sheepish apology, Jarod explained.  "I checked your cell phone records."

Amused, Grace looked at Sydney.  "And you've put up with him for how long?"

Sydney agreed.  "He is... resourceful."

Grace laughed and addressed the man at her side.  He was easily twenty years Sydney's senior, small, with a thin fringe of grey hair and a deeply lined-face.  "You've already met Jarod.  This is Sydney.  Syd, Jon Carriveau."  The two men shook hands.

"Grace has told me a little about you.  We're glad you're here," Sydney said.  He didn't have to add, she needs your help, and desperately so.  Jon felt that as soon as he walked in and lightly reached out to her with his mind.  

"Why don't we leave the two of you to... catch up?  Jarod and I have a few errands to run."  Sydney's excuse was almost laughable, but the courtesy was appreciated.  Grace smiled her gratitude.  Jarod reached out to touch her arm lightly, but checked himself.  Grace noted the action, however, and quickly put her hand on his arm, unconsciously steeling herself.  Her soft smile belied the considerable effort this took.  "Thank you for bringing him," she said.  He covered her hand with his for a few seconds.  "You're welcome."  Looking at Jon, he queried, "We'll give a call in a few hours?"  Jon nodded, and steered Grace further into the room, breaking the physical contact between Grace and Jarod.  Jarod and Sydney left the room as Jon and Grace settled into the couch.

Neither spoke for a moment.  Jon concentrated on Grace's slowly abating turmoil.  He understood immediately what was happening to her.  The images she had absorbed from Jarod were becoming more and more pervasive when he was near.  She was more like Angelo than she knew; rather than submerging her own personality, however, it was as though the two psyches – hers and Jarod's – were simultaneously trying to occupy the same person.   Jon reached out with his mind, reestablishing the link with long-standing familiarity.  Grace welcomed him easily.  Years of friendship on a most-intimate level accompanied the action.  It was Jon who had saved her life and her sanity, but even more importantly, he was her touchpoint with humanity.  Had it not been for him, she would have long ago drowned, overwhelmed with this ability she could neither understand nor control.  They conversed as they always had back when he was teaching her, letting unspoken impressions accompany the spoken word.  Truth be told, unspoken communication would have more efficient and complete, but Grace rarely allowed this.  She had never achieved the level of acceptance of her abilities that Jon had, toward which he had occasionally pushed her.  She was stubborn and steadfast about this, though, and concentrated only on those skills which served to suppress her 'gift.'

"How bad is it?" Jon asked.  Grace still would not let her guard down, but was completely honest with him.  "Very.  I'm losing ground.  I have less control now than I did the first night.  It keeps washing back over me.  Nothing I can do seems to work consistently.  One minute I think I'm fine, and the next..."

"Jarod walks in," Jon finished.  Grace stared at him.  "Think, Grace – is it worse when he's nearby, and better when he's not?"

"My God."  She had not seen the connection.  

"Grace – you may need to get away from him in order to get this under control."

She shook her head.  "No.  I need to be here right now."

"We may be talking about months, or years, to achieve the kind of separation you had before" he said as gently as he could.  "Do you honestly think you can live like this?"

Grace could not deny it.  "I'd lose my mind."  She paused.  "But Jon, I can't leave this."

Jon looked closely at her.  "On the phone, you said you needed to help him for both of you."

She took a deep breath and nodded.  "The people who are after him are the same ones who held me as a child."

Jon felt the wind leave him.  "The Centre."

Grace had told Jon very little about the Centre, and during those years when she lived with him, he did not pry, understanding her more immediate needs for healing and some modicum of personal privacy.  In the past decade or so, however, since Grace had left his house, he became increasingly concerned with finding out more about this organization.  He spent years meeting one dead end after another, unable to unearth any substantial information about the Centre.  When one lead finally panned out, he was appalled at his findings.  His concern grew to border on obsession, and, unknown to Grace, his attempts to penetrate more and more of their secrets had led him to actually set up a contract for their services.  As a test, he had them initiate the toppling of one of his own companies.  Jon was astounded when a perfectly sound business crumbled within days.  He could afford the financial loss and scrambled to find situations for displaced employees, but the experience gave him a healthy dose of fear when it came to the Centre's considerable influence and power.  He prudently backed off, but not before he had unknowingly tagged himself for further attention from the Centre.  

Grace's phone call a few days earlier had prompted his renewed investigation of them.  Red flags went up at the Centre as they got wind of his inquiries.  When he suddenly disappeared from England, the Centre, with its routine level of paranoia, assumed a possible danger to itself and began a search.  

"The Centre," Grace replied.  "Do you see why I can't leave now?"

Jon swallowed with difficulty, his throat dry.  "Grace, they're dangerous."

"Very.  Jon, I need to bring this under control, right now.  Can you help me blank it out?"

Jon considered the options; there weren't many.  The best was to take Grace and go underground, but he felt her resolve and knew she would never abandon Jarod and Sydney to their fate.  Moreover, she would not be denied her role in this fight.  Since she refused to distance herself from Jarod, his presence would be a constant catalyst, working against anything she might do to bar his memories from her own mind.

"That would take longer than we have," he said.

Her heart sank.  "What else can we do?" she asked, swallowing the note of desperation that she felt trying to overtake her.

They slowly and carefully listed their options.  Distance from this situation was the best buffer to erect, and he made it clear that this was his first choice.  She understood, but maintained that it was unacceptable.  The severity of her current decline made staying with the status quo a sure route to psychosis.  

"I can't get away from these images.  I can't deal with them like this for long.  What I need is some way to lock them up, at least for now."

"You don't have those skills," he said regretfully.  He knew just what she was capable of, and her refusal years ago to learn the skills that would have allowed her now to exploit her gift severely limited their options.  

In the silence that followed, each desperately sought inspiration.  Jon was mad at himself for not having pushed her harder to accept her ability.  Perhaps if he had, she would not be in danger now.  He shook himself mentally.  There had to be an alternative.  

"What else?" she insisted.  

Jon was quiet for a moment, and then spoke slowly.  "There might be another way."  She waited, her breathing shallow.  He knew her well, and this would be a hard sell.  "It's not pretty.  I do it for you."

Grace was slow to understand, and reluctantly he expanded on his word.  "If you can't remove yourself from here, and you can't wall off your surroundings from your mind, we have to wall off your mind, or at least part of it, from the rest of it.  If I created an oubliette for you, a place to lock these memories away, you would have a chance to learn how to deal with them, to develop your skills..."

This was definitely not what she had hoped.  "What I want to do is shut it off, Jon!  If Jarod's presence is triggering all this..."

"Even if you could, just shutting it off won't erase the memories of his that you already have."

"But they won't flood me like they do now, every time he's near."

"And how do you plan to suppress them?"

She had no ready answer.  What she feared was coming, did. "I think," Jon said carefully, "that this is our only other choice.  I need to get in."

"No.  Absolutely no."  She was adamant.  Her head was aching now, not from fighting the images, but from the stress and the lack of sleep.  This was going nowhere, and they decided that she should take advantage of the relative peace and try to rest.  Jon helped her settle into a brief meditative state, and watched over her as she dropped off.  

She slept deeply.  Jon waited for her to awaken, using the time to scour his mind for any alternative.  He saw only two: convince her by any means possible to let him do what he proposed, or to forcibly take her away.  He was certain than she would welcome neither option.   

***   ***   ***   ***   ***

Grace awoke even more tired than before.  He insisted she down a couple of glasses of juice.  When she felt steadier, Jon spoke gently.  "Grace, I understand you don't want me to see it all.  I've never pried into your mind, never gone anywhere in there without your consent.  This kind of self-revelation feels overwhelmingly vulnerable, defenseless."

She looked at him wearily.  "You know I trust you, Jonnie, with anything that is mine.  My life, my sanity.  Hell, I owe you both those.  As for your seeing my entire life, I could even live with that.  But it's not that simple."

"Jarod's experiences," he said.

"They're not mine to show you, Jon."  Her eyes pleaded for understanding.

"And you feel you have to protect them."  She nodded mutely.

"Grace – what if we got Jarod's permission?"

She shook her head.  "We can't do that."

"There's no other alternative."

"Then there's nothing we can do," she said with childish stubbornness.  She didn't want to discuss it further.  She tried to walk away, but he grabbed her arm, frustrated and angry.  She was surprised.  It had only been on rare occasion that she had seen him angry, and never directed at her.

"I won't let you accept this!  It's a death sentence for your sanity!  Your mind cannot survive this without help."  As if on cue, the images once again slammed into her mind.  She reeled from the force of it.  Had Jon not been gripping her arm, she would have fallen over.  As it was, he barely caught her and lowered her to the sofa.

"He's coming," she whispered, clawing for control.  Jon's heart ached with frustration at not being able to protect her from this pain.  He stayed close, raging at his impotence.

The pair walked in a few minutes later to see Grace sitting in a stupor, trying her best to disconnect from her surroundings.  The old man was obviously upset, and for a brief moment Sydney and Jarod wondered if Jon hadn't somehow caused her distress, perhaps in an argument.  He was collected, however, when he rose and turned to face them.

"We need your help, Jarod."

"Anything," he said.

Jon began to explain.  "Grace has seen your life.  Your memories dwell in her now.  But it goes further than that.  Your experiences, your emotions, everything you thought and felt, are all competing for her mind with her own experiences.  This conflict is tearing her mind apart."

Jarod swallowed.  "I am so sorry, Grace," he whispered.  Then, stronger: "How can I help her?"

"No."  The voice was weak but clear.  All eyes turned to her.  Her own were still distant, but she was returning to their presence.  Sydney instinctively moved in closer, sitting next to her, picking up her hand.  "Let us help you, Grace.  Please," he said.  She turned her head slowly toward Sydney, then back to Jon.  

"Don't do this.  Don't put him in this position."

Jon turned away from her, toward Jarod.  Panicking, Grace struggled to stand.  Sydney rose with her, supporting her unsteady frame.  Jon forged ahead.

"I want to enter Grace's mind and compartmentalize your experiences – to lock them away from her consciousness.  It's not ideal, and only a temporary solution at best.  But to go on like this will destroy her mind."  

Jarod nodded.  "Why is she opposing this?  Is it because she doesn't want you in her mind that – intimately?"

"She's protecting you, Jarod."  Sydney's voice came from over Jon's shoulder.  "She promised to keep your memories safe, to reveal them to no one."

Jarod looked from Sydney to Grace to Jon, who closed his eyes and nodded confirmation.  Jarod remembered her vow that first night.  At the time, his privacy so recently and completely invaded, it seemed like the most important thing in the world to him.  He was certain that was exactly how she understood it.  But in the face of what she now battled, how could she – or he – even think it was an issue?

He moved around Jon to face her.  "Grace, it's all right," he said gently.  "Let Jon help you.  I release you from your promise."

She laughed brokenly.  "You've got that backwards, Jarod.  It's not your decision to make.  I don't release me from my promise."

Jarod's eyes dropped to the floor as his mind raced.  He suddenly looked back up.  "All right," he said, "This decision is mine to make."  He spun around to face Jon.  "You can do what Grace can, telepathically?"  

"I can."

"Then I want you to read my mind.  I want you to see it all, everything about me."

All three of them understood.  If Jarod's privacy were no longer Grace's responsibility...

"Jarod, no!  Jon, you can't!  Don't do this!"  She was in tears, pleading.  She looked wildly from one to the other.  "Sydney, tell him... his privacy..."  Sydney spoke softly, "He knows. It is his decision."  She reached for Jarod.  

"You're asking to have it all happen again.  To be mentally raped.  How can you ask such a thing?"

"Grace, we need you, here and whole.  I trust you.  And Jon.  You won't hurt me."  He turned back toward Jon.  "I'm ready.  What do we do first?"

"Wait."  Grace's voice was shaky.  They looked at her.  "All right, Jon.  You don't need to read Jarod.  I'll do it."  She looked at Jarod in despair.  "I'm sorry I couldn't protect you."

He smiled tenderly, stooping slightly to capture her down-turned eyes.  "You just did."  He refrained from touching her, but whispered, "I owe you a hug."

She drew a quavering breath.  "Jon, show him.  Please."  Jon understood.  He explained to the others.  "She wants me to show Jarod that he can trust me with what I will see."

"You don't have to..." Jarod began.

"Yes, he does," she said, her voice drained.  "I need him to do this.  I need you to know."  

Jarod looked to Sydney.  His mentor closed his eyes and nodded.  Jarod smiled and said, "What do I do?"

***   ***   ***   ***   ***

Feedback can be sent to pangurban42@yahoo.com - and thank you. 


	5. Mindgames Part 5

Mindgames – Part 5

by **Pangur Bàn**

Rating (PG, PG13, R) : PG13   
Spoilers : probably

Disclaimer:  Steven Long Mitchell & Craig W. Van Sickle created the characters of the television series "The Pretender."  This fan fiction is purely for entertainment purposes (chiefly my own, admittedly.)  No profit is being made here. No infringement is intended.  

 *****     *****     *****     *****     *****     *****     *****     *****     *****

They banished Jarod from the vicinity for the rest of the evening.  Sydney stayed to help, at Grace's request.  He induced a light hypnotic state, a means to a level of relaxation she could not achieve for herself.  They gave her time to recover from this latest battle while they discussed what would come next.

Sydney watched, fascinated.  The room was dimly lit, drapes pulled against the last of the autumn evening.  He stood a little distance off as Jon pulled a chair next to the sofa upon which Grace lay.  Even in the faint light, he saw their breathing slow and lock step, their shoulders rising and falling in unison.  Jon spoke softly for a moment, his words indistinguishable.  Then talking ceased.

The psychologist thought they both began to pale, then realized with a shock that their washed-out countenances were actually glowing weakly with a diffuse pale green aura.  He held his breath, not wanting to disturb the delicate situation.

Jon had warned him that this would quite likely cause Grace some distress.  "It'll get worse before it gets better.  Hopefully, it won't last too long, but in order to bury these images, I first have to 'dig a hole', then go hunt all of them down.  Grace is by nature a private person.  Even though she and I are very close and she will be cooperating, this will not be comfortable for her."

"Like excising a tumor.  Or many tumors.  Without anesthesia," Sydney observed.  

"Mmmh."  Jon rumbled concurrence.

Grace groaned lightly as Jon began feeling around her mind.  He located a likely spot where he could funnel the troublesome images, and erected a wall of unpleasant sensations around it.  Grace would instinctively avoid that area.  

Now for the bad part.  Jon emerged from his deep concentration and looked up at Sydney.  "Stay close, now.  This will be hard on her."  Sydney nodded and moved to stand behind the sofa.  Jon once again sank into their conjoined minds.  A moment later, Grace's face contorted with pain and effort.  Jon had begun locating Jarod's memories, carrying them one by one through the barrier he had built.  He had been concerned about creating new problems as he removed the old.  The only other time he had done this was to remove a traumatic experience from the mind of his late wife, and the resulting "hole" he left behind had left her disturbed for months, until he figured out what he had done.  To fill it, he had created a false and benign image for her.  He was relieved to see that this was different.  When he was to think about it later, he would decide that removing an foreign image that was overlaying one of her own must be different than removing an image of something that she had experienced in her own life.  

As the evening became night, the task became harder and harder.  Grace was rebelling against the penetration of the barrier as Jarod's memories were deposited.  This was both good and bad.  It was a good sign that once all the memories had been locked away, she would not easily retrieve them.  But the pain of the moment was increasing drastically.  Several times they had to pause while Sydney stepped in to help her relax.  The respite during these intervals gave the older man a chance to catch his breath, and to strengthen his flagging resolve.  He was horrified and sickened to see what the Centre had done to Jarod, to her, and to their families.  She had never told him how her family had died, simply that she was an orphan.  He carefully locked up his own memories of his dealings with the Centre, lest she somehow see them in his mind.  How much could she take, he wondered.  Would he destroy her mind in an attempt to save it?  There was no path but forward, however.  The die was indeed cast.

It was very late before Jon drew a shallow and shuddering breath.  He could find no more signs of foreign images in her mind.  Exhausted, he released the link after offering what little comfort he could.  They were both wringing with sweat.  He opened his eyes, distantly surprised to find Sydney kneeling next to him, concern evident on his visage.  "It's over." Jon's voice was barely audible.  Without asking, Sydney picked him up bodily and carried him into his bedroom.  Depositing the old man on the bed, he removed Jon's shoes and left him to sleep.  He stepped into the bathroom and wet a washcloth.  Returning to Grace's side, he lightly wiped her clammy face and neck.  He stood a moment, making sure she was breathing, and then moved a few feet away to the window, flipping open the cell phone Jarod had given him earlier that day.

Jarod answered on the first ring.  "How are they?"

"Exhausted.  They're both asleep."

"How did it go?" he asked a little fearfully.

"We won't know until tomorrow.  You're to return in the morning.  Call before you do, so we're ready.  Will you be all right tonight?"

"Don't worry about me.  Sydney – was it...very bad?"

Sydney closed his eyes.  "It was a difficult process for them both.  But the alternative was certain insanity."

"God help them."  Jarod broke the connection as he folded the phone shut.  "God help us all," he said to the empty room.

"God help us all," replied Sydney to no one.  He went into Grace's room and pulled the sheet off her bed.  He folded it in half as he returned, covering her with it.  He then sat down in the chair to keep vigil, and to pray.

***   ***   ***   ***   ***

Jon insisted on ordering breakfast, although no one was hungry.  Juice and toast was mandatory, he commanded, tea optional.  "Coffee," Grace countered.  Breakfast arrived in short order, and spirits were cautiously high.

Grace had awakened without a headache.  For the first time in days, she was neither dizzy nor nauseous nor in pain.  The relief was palpable, and her barely-contained giddiness alternately concerned and amused the two men.  As they ate, they discussed what they had done.  Tentatively at first, then with more confidence, Grace searched her mind, like a tongue probing cautiously at the empty socket where the aching tooth had been.  There was no sign of Jarod's experience.  The real test was soon to come.

Jarod phoned at eight.  He spoke with Sydney, who told him to come.  Grace stood in front of him and held out her hand for the phone.

"Good morning, Jarod.  What would you like for breakfast?  I'll order it up for you."

Jarod smiled into the phone.  "Whatever you're having is fine.  I'll be right over."

"Hurry," she said, her voice perfectly confident in spite of the twinge of trepidation she felt.

Jarod arrived twenty minutes later.  Grace's face was alight with surprise and pleasure.  "I didn't feel you coming," she said victoriously.  Jon and Sydney beamed.

"I believe you owe me a hug," she said.  Jarod paused for a moment, cautious, but carefully folded her into his arms.  She held him stiffly at first, but soon relaxed and held tight, her face buried in his chest.  He kissed the top of her head, and she looked up, laughing tears brimming over.  "Hi, I'm Grace.  I'd like to get to know you.  A little at a time."

She turned to smile broadly at the others.  "No leftovers.  We got them all."  Jarod stood behind her, his arms still around her.  His vast relief was evident on his face.  The idea of his life being the source of such pain for another person, and his presence being the trigger, was abhorrent to him.  Had this not worked, he had decided he would leave.  His first stop would be the Centre.  He had lain awake all night, murdering Raines over and over in his mind.  None of his multitude of plans had anything to do with his escape afterwards, he would later realize.  The satisfaction of the act was all he could think about.

***   ***   ***   ***   ***

After breakfast, a small war ensued.  Grace fell back into her usual position on things.

Jon took a hard line.  "Grace, you know this won't last forever.  You need to learn to deal with this..."

"I am dealing with it..."

"Which means developing your ability, learning new skills..."

"Which means being able to turn it off."

"That didn't work the last time."

"It worked for nine years."

"And then look what happened."

"It's under control now."

"This won't last."

"Then I'll demand a refund."

"God damn it!"  Jon's rare forays into profanity were never particularly colorful, but always indicative of extreme provocation and frustration.  He threw up his hands and stormed across the room.  Sydney stepped aside to let him pass.  "She must be feeling better," Jon growled.  "You talk to her."

Grace's was in fine humor.  She faced Sydney, challenge evident in her expression.

Sydney raised his eyebrows.  "I'm relieved you're feeling better."  She dipped her head slightly with a smile, never once taking her eyes off him.  Bring it on, her attitude said clearly.  He complied, but his words were not what she anticipated.

"I gather I'm supposed to convince you that this curse of yours is actually some sort of 'gift.'"  Grace regarded him, suspicious and amused, and waited.  "I won't do that."  Behind him, Jon exhaled forcibly.  Sydney didn't turn.  "It's a real cross for you." 

Satisfied, she nodded sharply.  "You have no idea."

"I can't imagine dealing with it myself."  He laughed softly.  "I have enough problems sorting out my own thoughts and emotions."  Triumphantly, she looked over Sydney's shoulder at Jon, who refused to turn around.  Jarod watched the exchange curiously from across the room.  He knew Sydney well.  He was leading up to something with this, but what?

"Do you think you can ever be totally rid of it?" Sydney asked softly.

Grace stopped, her elation abruptly deflating.  Her face answered for her.  "I hate it.  I truly hate it," she breathed.

"Yet it's a part of you.  It defines who you are, in part."

"So does my weight," she attempted to make light of it, "but I'm not interested in expanding that, either."

Still facing the window, Jon allowed himself a small smile.  She always had been able to do that, inject humor into the gravest situations.  Damn and blast!

Sydney paid her with a half smile, but continued gently.  "These skills Jon speaks of.  Do you think that learning to use them means you might be tempted to misuse them?"

She closed her eyes.  "No.  I'm not sure," she faltered, then looked up at him with conviction.  "No.  I'm not afraid of that.  Jon doesn't misuse them.  But he's not...I'm not like him.  I can't stand the intrusion.  Others' thoughts, others' feelings taking me over.  Threatening to submerge me, until I can't tell where I end and they begin."

"Like Angelo."  Sydney dropped the name like the blade of a guillotine.  Aha, Jarod thought, now understanding where his mentor was going with this.  He got up and approached Jon.  

"Angelo lives at the Centre," Jarod began, addressing Jon, but in reality for Grace's benefit.  He suspected that Jon had at least seen all this in Grace's mind, even if he hadn't absorbed it himself.  "As a child, he was – altered – by Dr. Raines.  His mind was destroyed, using many of the same methods that Raines used on Grace."

Jon's eyes grew hazy with pain.  As Jarod continued, Sydney paid close attention to Grace's countenance.  It was frozen with guilt-tinged grief, but behind that, he knew, the wheels were turning...

"Angelo is special," Jarod was saying.  "His gift is empathic.  He is like a sponge, able to absorb emotional impressions from people and things around him.  Unfortunately, the price he paid for this gift was the loss of a little boy named Timmy.  Raines wiped out Timmy's personality in the process of creating Angelo."

Jon felt ill.  Jarod's narration had not been lost on Grace, either.  Sydney breathed a silent prayer that it was the right moment, and spoke her name.

"Grace?"  She looked at him, her eyes brimming.  "Might you be able to use those skills to help Angelo?"

She closed her eyes and a tear squeezed out.  It was exactly what she'd been thinking.  Opening her eyes, she sought Jon. He nodded to her.  She looked back to Sydney and spoke unevenly but with resolve.  "I want to help him."  After a brief pause, her voice was stronger.  "Jon, help me, please.  Show me what to do."

Jon felt no sense of victory, just relief.  And Grace felt no sense of defeat.  Rather, she now had the hope of some good to come from all this anguish.  Finally, a purpose to her rare and treacherous...gift?  No, she still couldn't think of it as that.  But for the first time, perhaps "curse" wasn't quite right, either.  What had Sydney called it?  A cross.  "Crosses are burdens; not curses, but blessings."  Where had she heard that?  It had never sounded like anything but a simpering, flowery platitude before.  But now...?

***   ***   ***   ***   ***

That afternoon, while Jon and Grace worked together, Sydney and Jarod turned their attention back to other business.  It would soon be time for Sydney to return to the Centre.  His prearranged alibi, a John Doe admission to a Philadelphia hospital (courtesy of Jarod's actor friend) would shortly be coming out of his coma following a mugging.  Sydney would leave the following evening for Philadelphia, there to climb out of a  hospital bed and resume his role at the Centre.  They needed an insider to keep an eye on things for a while longer, and to arrange Angelo's escape.  The risk he would be running was extraordinary, but would be short-term, if all went well.  A private plane was chartered for an anonymous flight the next night.  Tonight, though, they planned a celebration of sorts.  After all she'd been through and was now taking on, Grace deserved at least a party, if not a medal, Jarod said.  

***   ***   ***   ***   ***

Back in the hotel, Grace was making great strides in the basics of the mental disciplines she would need to practice to mastery.  Jon thought it nothing short of astounding, how she switched gears from absolute refusal to complete dedication to learning these skills.  When he suggested a break she had overruled him.  When he had insisted on the next, he returned to find her meditating, concentrating on the last exercise he'd given her.  

Recognizing that she would not be swayed in her zeal, he proposed a change of scenery.  A walk in the park would serve both to stretch their legs and her wings, he joked.  She laughed, surprising herself at the easy sound of her own laughter.  She hadn't heard that note for far too long.

The late afternoon was crisp and invigorating.  The smell of autumn leaves underfoot was an unparalleled favorite in her book.  Her spirits were high, and she was anxious to try a few "short reaches," as Jon called them.  Not a full-blown mind tap, but merely a brushing-by.  Her goal was to obtain an impression without actually penetrating a thought image.  She was nervous as they discussed her task.  

She balked at her first attempt.  The man walking by made eye contact and smiled at them.  When he looked her in the eye, she was suddenly afraid that she might not be able to stop the process at a brushing.  He passed without incident, and she was annoyed with herself.  Jon calmed her down, and encouraged her to try again.

The next passerby was a woman.  Once again, eye contact made Grace pause, but she gathered herself and reached.  After she had passed, she turned to Jon.  "I think I got that one.  Something like, oh, isn't that nice."  

Jon told her she was on the right track.  "Now, what do you extrapolate from that?"

"I didn't get enough information to..."

"No, Grace, stop analyzing.  This isn't so much of an analytical process as a creative one.  Trust yourself.  Create the rest from what you feel about the contact."

Grace's brow furrowed.  Create it?  Make it up?  Might as well be writing a fairy tale if...

"Grandfather and granddaughter!" she blurted out.  She had no idea that concept was coming, but Jon grinned.  "That's right," he said, laughing at the expression of surprise on her face.  "She thought you were my granddaughter, perhaps spending the afternoon with me."  

Grace laughed delightedly.  She had taken her first step, and it hadn't knocked her flat.  

***   ***   ***   ***   ***

At last, life seemed to be returning to some semblance of normalcy, insofar as one could call their lives "normal."  Returning to the hotel, they were surprised to find balloons and flowers waiting for them.  Laughing, they read the card: Jarod and Sydney's way of inviting them to meet them for dinner.  While Grace cleaned up, Jon made a few phone calls to check on business back home.

And unknowingly signed his death warrant.  The Centre, unable to track him past his arrival in Chicago, had been doggedly waiting to once again pick up his trail.  Phone taps were a tedious job, but once they paid off, wheels at the ominous fortress in Blue Cove were set in motion with deadly intent.  A sweeper team was dispatched to Milwaukee.

Returning from their light-hearted dinner, the quartet made their way to the suite.  Jarod got off at his floor to retrieve his laptop and DSA reader for further work with Sydney that evening.  He exited the elevator to meet Jon at the ice machine.

"Thank you for the distraction this evening," Jon said, referring to Grace.  

"We all needed it," Jarod replied.  Jon reached for his key card as they approached the first door of the suite.  Neither turned as the elevator doors reopened.  Jon held the door for Jarod, whose hands were full.  Jarod passed through the door as shots shattered the hush of the hallway.

Jarod turned back as the ice bucket hit the floor, cubes bouncing on the carpeting.  Among them lay Jon, his chest exploded in a mass of red.  "No!" shouted Jarod.  He took a step toward the old man, but was driven back by the shots of the sweeper team, advancing on the downed man, still firing into his already obviously dying body.  Retreating into the suite, he closed the door behind him.

Inside, Grace was on her knees, her hands clutching her chest.  Sydney, on his knees at her side, looked up as Jarod charged into the room.  "Sweepers!  We've got to get out!  Jon..."  Sydney understood the rest.

Grace was unresponsive but allowed herself to be helped up and bundled into the next room.  Jarod gave Sydney the DSA case and pulled a gun from behind his back.  He readied himself at the far door to the suite, then burst through it, immediately targeting the two agents down the hall.  They both went down, one dead, the other severely wounded.  

The three rapidly made their way to the stairwell.  Ushering Grace down the first flight was taking too long.  Jarod handed Sydney the gun and shouldered Grace in a fireman's carry, practically flying down the stairs.  Eight stories below, he released Grace to Sydney and preceded them into the underground parking garage.  He quickly surveyed the area for danger.  At his signal, Sydney hustled Grace to the car and unceremoniously pushed her into the passenger front seat.  She leaned against the glass. 

"Get in, Jarod!" Sydney shouted, cranking the engine over.  Jarod yanked open the back door and threw himself into the car, somehow avoiding landing on the computer bag he wore over his shoulder.  The squeal of tires echoed in the cavernous garage.  As they fled, Sydney bounced the car off a concrete pillar, doing a fair amount of damage.  Grace's head bounced against the window.  "Merde!" the driver muttered, pushing the electronic lock control on his door.  It would have to do for now – there was no time for seatbelts.  

Jarod scanned wildly, highly keyed up as Sydney dodged and weaved through the evening traffic, drawing more than one angry look, horn, or gesture.  They saw no pursuit, but knew they had left enough evidence behind for the Cleaners to indicate that Jarod had been there.  If the second Sweeper survived, he might identify Sydney as well.  Sydney could no longer return as planned.  They were all in danger now.

They headed north at random, then turned west.  They drove into the night, stopping only for gas.  Daylight chased them into Mitchell, South Dakota.  The prolonged adrenaline rush had waned, leaving both men fatigued.  Grace now occupied the back seat.  They hadn't been able to get more than a few words out of her all night, but it was clear that she not only understood what had happened, but that she had actually felt Jon die.

They topped off the gas tank before finding a place to hole up for some much-needed rest.  The small motel was nondescript, and the desk clerk asked no questions when they asked for one room for the three of them.  They would take no chance of being separated today.  The two men debated briefly about who would take the first watch while the other slept.  

"I slept some in the car," Grace lied.  "I'll do it."  The two acquiesced tiredly.  They quickly dropped off.  Grace sat quietly at the scarred, cheap table next to the window where the daylight seeped around the edges of the dingy blackout curtains.  She meditated grimly, pushing aside the grief which threatened to overwhelm her.  After a short time, she was able to calmly and purposefully begin to reach with her mind, looking for any sign of dangerous intent approaching.  She would protect the two men who slept a few feet away from her by any means necessary.

***   ***   ***   ***   ***

Feedback can be sent to pangurban42@yahoo.com - and thank you. 


	6. Mindgames Part 6

Mindgames – Part 6

by **Pangur Bàn**

Rating (PG, PG13, R) : PG13   
Spoilers : probably

Disclaimer:  Steven Long Mitchell & Craig W. Van Sickle created the characters of the television series "The Pretender."  This fan fiction is purely for entertainment purposes (chiefly my own, admittedly.)  No profit is being made here. No infringement is intended.  

 *****     *****     *****     *****     *****     *****     *****     *****     *****

Nearly two months after the anonymous death of their friend in a Milwaukee hotel, three people sat in a car as the dark night of an early winter blew cold in Blue Cove.  They waited in watchful silence for the man they knew would exit shortly.  They had, after all, set up the situation themselves.  The exodus of most of the powerful figures at the Centre had happened hours earlier; they now awaited the departure of the last impediment.

The arrival of a limousine turned their collective attention to the main door of the intimidating edifice.  They were not disappointed to see two men emerge, one of them carrying a garment bag while talking on the phone, the other laboriously pulling an oxygen tank behind him.  The driver popped the trunk and climbed out of the car to help Mr. Raines into the back seat.  The driver lifted the oxygen tank in behind his passenger and closed the door.  The other bodyguard closed the trunk and joined the driver in the front seat.  The car pulled smoothly away.

Grace waited until the limo was out of sight before starting the car.  The heater had only just reawakened as they got to the door.  Jarod and Sydney got out and quickly entered the building.  Grace returned to the surveillance spot and cut the engine to watch again, edgy and impatient.

Inside, the pair swiftly made their way down into the lower levels of the Centre.  They had only one purpose in mind, and were intent upon achieving it as quickly as possible.

They went directly to the secure residence facilities.  Sydney hurried to the end of the corridor and set the small incendiary device that would hopefully be enough to cover their escape without endangering lives.  Jarod meanwhile stopped at the correct door and looked through the portal window.  Angelo was standing on the opposite side, looking out with bright eyes, as though waiting for them.  Jarod greeted him through the glass, and indicated he should move back.  Filling the lock with the low-level explosive gel he had concocted, he made short work of opening the door.  

Angelo, curiously, did not rush out.  Jarod entered his cell and barely noted the meager surroundings.  Angelo did not consider this room any sort of home base, and had no need of making it comfortable or homey.  In truth, the empath had no well-defined sense of home base.  Rather, he had numerous cache points he considered "private" or "keep-safe" spots.

"Angelo, come with us," Jarod said.  Angelo dropped his glance briefly, then looked up again.  "Leave now," he said.

There was no time to decide whether Angelo was telling Jarod to leave without him, or if he was indicating his willingness to come.  Jarod took him by the arm and led him out of the cell.  Thankfully, whatever Angelo had meant, he did not resist.  

Sydney was waiting for them in the corridor, a gun in one hand and a small remote control in the other.  The three made their way back to the elevator.  Sydney pressed the button that lit off a small fire which burned hot for a brief time, activating the fire alarm system, then extinguished to a small heat source which continued to produce a vast amount of thick smoke.  Jarod overrode the elevator's emergency shutdown with a fireman's passkey.  They rode directly to the ground floor, radioing Grace as they rose.  She met them at the door as they rushed out.  All three piled into the car, which moved off even before the last door closed.  The whole operation had taken less than fifteen minutes, although later that night, each would feel they had aged fifteen years.

***   ***   ***   ***   ***

Leaving the keys in the car in a long-term lot, they boarded a night flight to Salt Lake City.  The car would likely be stolen in a few days; no one would report the loss.  Angelo regarded Grace curiously during the flight.  Unwilling to risk attracting attention to themselves by Angelo's possible reaction to her, she was friendly and kind to him, but mostly kept her distance.  She and Sydney tried to nap, with spotty success.  Across the aisle, Jarod tried to keep Angelo distracted and calm.  Angelo watched the in-flight movie with fascination, munching the Cracker Jack that Jarod had brought for him.  Jarod didn't bother with headsets, preferring his own thoughts to the dialogue of the movie.  An hour into the film, he was aware of Angelo's voice, low and contemplative.  He was talking to himself in snatches.  Jarod assumed he was commenting on the movie, but a moment's listening changed his mind.

"He hurt her.  Had to leave."  Nodding to himself, his eyes glued to the screen, he was silent for a moment.  Then he spoke again.  "Shouldn't have come back.  He would hurt her again."  His face was thoughtful, illuminated in flashes by the alternating light from the movie screen.  He turned to look at Jarod who was regarding him closely.  

"He hurt her.  Sad."  Angelo turned his head to look across the aisle at the napping pair.  "She doesn't like to see the pictures."  His gaze returned to the flashing images in front of him, and he was once again mesmerized, his commentary over.

Jarod was struck by his seatmate's words.  According to what Grace had told them, her stay had overlapped with Timmy's arrival for a short time.  Was it possible that Angelo knew who she was?  

He reached over to touch Angelo, who looked down at Jarod's hand on his arm.  "Angelo, do you know who she is?"  He made the question purposely vague, wondering what kind of answer he might get.  

Angelo twitched his head in a movement that could have been a nod or a shake.  "She left before Angelo came."  Jarod was puzzled by the response, and tried another tack.

"Who hurt her?"

Angelo reacted visibly to the question, withdrawing from Jarod's hand and quickly looking down, only glancing up to meet Jarod's eyes fleetingly and shaking his head.  "Who, Angelo?" Jarod insisted.  

"Him," Angelo pleaded.  

"Was it Raines?"

"Jarod," the accented voice floated softly across the aisle.  Jarod looked past Angelo to see Sydney leaning over the arm of his seat.  "Let it go for now."

"Did you hear what he said?" said Jarod.

Sydney nodded.  He, too, was fascinated by what Angelo had said, and burning to know what the empath might know about the woman sleeping next to him.  "It's all right, Angelo."  The young man shivered, and Sydney rose to pull a blanket down from the overhead compartment.  Jarod stood and moved past Angelo to stand with Sydney near the front of the nearly empty first class compartment.  They spoke in low tones.

"Do you think he might know about Grace?" the Pretender asked.

Sydney shrugged.  "It's hard to tell.  And if he does, is it because he remembers her somehow, or because he is empathing it now?  They were both only children then."  His eyes sparked with curiosity, but his voice was calm.  "We still have a long day ahead of us before we get to the cabin.  We'll have to be patient."

They looked back at Angelo, who had closed his eyes, apparently trying to sleep.  "Why don't you try to sleep for a while, Jarod?  We land in less than ninety minutes."

Jarod nodded and returned to his seat, retrieving his jacket on the way.  Arranging the coat over himself, he turned his head into the seat back, staring out the window into the dark skies.

***   ***   ***   ***   ***

They picked up the SUV they had left in place two days prior and left Utah in short order.  The weather and the roads were cooperative, and they made good time.  Jarod and Sydney shared the driving duty, logging thirteen hours between them in their trip north.  Angelo watched Grace discretely and thoughtfully.  Sydney often caught him taking careful looks at her, and was anxious to find out what was going on in that mind.  Grace, for her part, took the examination in stride.  He did not seem to fear her, but did not yet seemed inclined to converse with her at any great length.  

Daylight had once again vanished when they reached the cabin south of Coeur d'Alene.  The caretaker had stocked it and left the electric heat on, according to their instructions.  The foursome tumbled into the cabin with the few supplies they had, weary but heartened to finally be done with the traveling for a while.  The wood box was full, and Jarod quickly set a fire in the woodstove.

Each found a bedroom to call their own and bags were deposited on beds.  They all agreed that sleep was first on the bill.  Angelo curled up in a chair in the living room and fell asleep in a few minutes.  They decided to leave him there rather than disturb him.

"Do you think he might be frightened when he wakes up in a strange place?" Grace wondered.  

"I'll sleep on the couch," Sydney volunteered.  Pillows and blankets were purloined from beds, and within a half hour, all were asleep.

***   ***   ***   ***   ***

The smell of coffee and sausage woke Sydney.  Rumpled, he made his way to the kitchen area and dropped into a chair at the table where Angelo was busy feeding the toaster.  "Good morning," Sydney greeted them both.  "Morning," replied Grace.  "Hair," volunteered Angelo.  Sydney looked at him curiously.  Angelo grinned and lifted the hot toaster by the handles.  The psychologist caught a glimpse of himself in the chrome, and raised his eyebrows good-naturedly at Angelo.  "Bed-head," Sydney said.  Angelo was delighted with the words.  "Bed-head," he agreed.  Sydney had been about to run a hand through the wild grey hair, but changed his mind.  Angelo was animated and lively; let the hair be for now.

Breakfast preparations continued noisily for several minutes.  Grace set out four glasses and a pitcher of orange juice in front of Sydney, who began filling them.  "Angelo, would you like to go see if Jarod is awake?" he suggested.  

Angelo's eyes danced, and he left the table.  Sydney looked up at Grace.  "He seems relaxed and upbeat."

"We had a conversation of sorts before you got up."

"'Of sorts'?"

"Mmm.  I'm not quite sure of why, but I think he wanted me to talk – about anything.  He just seemed to want to listen."

"Have you tried to... to read him, at all?"

"No.  I don't want to try that, not yet."

"I think that's wise.  Let's see what he's willing to talk about first."

"Like matters of personal grooming?" she teased.

"I might just be a trend-setter, you know," he said in mock-defense.

"Doubtful," came Jarod's voice from behind.  He grinned at the unfamiliar stubble on Sydney's chin.  "I hope you packed a razor."

"Bed-head," said Angelo gleefully, running a hand over his own nearly bald pate.  

"All right, all right," Sydney said affably.  "I can take a hint."

"You mean you know when you're outnumbered," Grace laughed.

He rose with exaggerated dignity, which dissolved as his stomach rumbled audibly.

"Don't wait for me to start eating.  I'm first in the shower."  He downed a glass of juice and went to his room as eggs began cooking.

***   ***   ***   ***   ***

Sydney emerged looking refreshed.  "Anything left?" he said.  All three were still seated at the table, and Jarod rose to fix him some fresh eggs.  Angelo left the table too, and perched on the far end of the counter, where he could observe the others.  Sydney grabbed up the pot of coffee and refilled cups as he poured his own.  He sat down, starting in on a piece of cold toast.  

Jarod brought over a plate of hot eggs and sausage, and started clearing dishes.  Grace started to rise, but he checked her.  "I've got it," Jarod said.  "Angelo and I will clean up."

Angelo looked up.  "Can you get the glasses, Angelo?" Jarod asked.  Angelo hopped down off the counter and fetched the juice glasses as Jarod began filling the sink.  "I'll wash and you dry, okay?"  Angelo looked at the water and suds rising in the sink.  "Unless you'd rather wash," Jarod continued.  Angelo stuck a finger into the mound of suds and shook his head.  Jarod gave him a towel.

Sydney polished off his breakfast while Grace sipped her coffee.  They talked about the prior day's activities and the need to find out about the Centre's response to their raid.  From the sink, Jarod joined in the discussion.  He would tap in to the Centre's mainframe via satellite uplink, just to be safe.  The conversation grew animated, and Jarod moved away from the sink as they talked.  Suddenly, Grace began laughing.  The two men looked at her curiously.  She was looking past them at Angelo, who had picked up a handful of suds and applied them to his head, peaking it like a meringue.  "Bed-head," she laughed.  Angelo grinned at her.

***   ***   ***   ***   ***

Feedback can be sent to pangurban42@yahoo.com - and thank you. 


	7. Mindgames Part 7

Mindgames – Part 7

by **Pangur Bàn**

Rating (PG, PG13, R) : PG13   
Spoilers : probably

Disclaimer:  Steven Long Mitchell & Craig W. Van Sickle created the characters of the television series "The Pretender."  This fan fiction is purely for entertainment purposes (chiefly my own, admittedly.)  No profit is being made here. No infringement is intended.  

 *****     *****     *****     *****     *****     *****     *****     *****     *****

The next few days were comfortable as they established routines.  They had anticipated that Angelo would prefer quite a bit of solitude and were prepared to give him a lot of room.  Surprisingly, though, he seemed to be contented to spend most of his time with them.  Sometimes teasing, sometimes animated, sometimes withdrawn and observant, Angelo was nearly always present.  The first day, they had all taken a long walk to begin to familiarize themselves with the immediate surroundings.  Angelo showed a well-developed sense of direction and distance, most likely a skill from his days of navigating the Centre's extensive ventilation system.  When on the second day he disappeared for several hours, they resisted the urge to go after him.  He returned without fanfare before sunset and went to his room to nap.  They all breathed a sigh of relief to have him back, and spent a quiet hour discussing how they needed to keep from overprotecting him.

Their fifth day dawned bright and clear.  According to the radio, it would be their last for several days.  A weather system was on its way, threatening to dump a considerable amount of snow the following day.  They decided a supply run was in order, and lists were quickly penned.  Jarod and Sydney would head into Spokane.  Angelo was reluctant to join them.  

Grace looked at him.  "Would you like me to stay here, too?"  Angelo nodded.  "Stay," he said. 

Grace looked at the other two.  "You heard the man.  And don't forget the Cracker Jack."

The door closed behind them.  Grace turned to Angelo as the Ford Expedition rumbled out of the yard.  He was watching her with a strange expression on his face.  "Angelo?  Would you like to do something?"  He didn't answer, but kept his eyes on her.  She felt no threat, and sat down on the couch.  

Angelo moved to sit opposite her on the coffee table, still watching her.  "Are you all right, Angelo?" she asked softly.  No response.  "Would you like to talk?"

He shook his head.  Well, it was worth a shot, she was thinking, when he spoke. 

"Timmy wants to talk now."

She caught her breath.  As far as she knew, Angelo had only rarely referred to Timmy, and never in the present tense.  She chose her next words carefully.

"Where is Timmy?"

"Timmy... inside."

Dear Lord.  Was it possible?  What now?  She wished desperately for Sydney's help.  Perhaps he had purposely waited for the others to leave to approach her. If so, she knew that now was a tremendous opportunity, and that she was way out of her depth here.  She was terrified of making a mistake and shutting Angelo – or Timmy – down.  Outwardly trying to remain calm, her thoughts cannonballed like a runaway locomotive.  Suddenly it occurred to her just how ludicrous this was, considering Angelo's empathic ability.  Outward calm meant nothing to him – he knew her turmoil.  Oddly, though, he was waiting patiently for her.

She took a deep breath.  "Angelo, tell me about Timmy."

"Timmy watches.  Knows who you are."

"Do you know who I am, too?"

Angelo nodded.  He leaned toward her, extending his hand.  His fingers touched her temple lightly.  "Hurt," he whispered.  "Sad."

He withdrew his hand and touched his own temples.  "Hurt," he said painfully.  He looked at her meaningfully.  "He hurt you and us."

She knew whom Angelo meant.  "Dr. Raines," she said as gently as she could.  Angelo hugged his arms to his chest and rocked as he nodded and whimpered.  She placed a soothing hand on his knee.  He looked up at her as she spoke.  "He won't hurt us any more."  The whimpering ceased, although he continued to hug himself and rock.

She was unsure how to proceed.  Please, God, help us, she prayed.  

***   ***   ***   ***   ***

She became aware that he was saying something under his breath.  She strained to hear.  It sounded like...  
  


"Friend?" she asked.  He slowed his rocking, and looked at her.  "You friend," he told her.  She held his eyes and nodded.  "You Timmy's friend," he continued.  

"You are Timmy's friend, too," she said.  He held rock still and searched her face.  "You take good care of Timmy, don't you?"  Her voice was low.  "You've kept him safe for a long time.  You don't let anyone hurt him."

"Timmy safe."  

"Would Timmy like to talk to me?"

Angelo closed his eyes.  Was he considering and deciding, or was he possibly talking to Timmy?  Either way, he opened his eyes and smiled at Grace.  "Hullo."

In a flash, Grace knew she was hearing Timmy.  She could barely contain her excitement, but managed to refrain from overreacting – she hoped.  

"Hello, Timmy," she said tenderly.  "I'm so happy you're here."

His smile widened.  He looked around the room as though seeing it for the first time.  No, that wasn't quite right.  More like, I can't believe I'm finally here.  

He got up and moved around the couch, touching things.  He picked up an apple and smelled it, then licked the skin.  She stood and watched him, unwilling to interrupt.  He bit it tentatively, and chewed a small bit.  He swallowed, then spoke without turning.  "It's good."  He took another bite and set the apple down, chewing as he moved on.  

He turned abruptly and looked at her.  "You came back.  Why?"

Grace was taken aback for a minute, but intuited that anything other that a totally honest answer would put an end to this.  "I came back to the Centre twice.  When I was a child, I came back because I didn't know how to stay away."  She paused, then decided, I might as well, he knows what I'm feeling anyway.  "As badly as Dr. Raines was hurting me, it hurt worse to be away.  I was scared.  So I came back."  

Timmy nodded, and waited for her to continue.  

"The second time was last week.  I came back to get y- to get Angelo.  I didn't know you were here, too.  That makes me very happy, Timmy."

He felt her joy, and knew it was genuine.  Satisfied, he continued his tour of the cabin.  

"Timmy, do you see everything Angelo sees?"

He nodded, picking up a geode from the bookshelf.  He ran his finger over the hard exposed crystals.  "This is pretty."  

"Is Angelo seeing the geode too?"  

He glanced at her sideways and put the geode back on the shelf.  He didn't answer directly, but moved on.  She reigned herself in, chastising herself for her ignorance.  For the weeks before the raid at the Centre, she had worked at her mental disciplines obsessively, concerned that her meager skills would somehow be called upon to help reach Angelo, to perhaps give him some peace of mind.  As uncertain as she had been then, she was totally unprepared for this.  She was flying by the seat of her pants, terrified that she would hurt him.

"You won't hurt me.  You're my friend."

Grace was floored.  "Timmy – how did you know what I was thinking?"  If he had read her mind, it was unlike any other link she'd ever known.  She had felt nothing.

"Angelo knew."  He continued padding softly around the room.

She still had no idea what to do.  All she knew was that she had to be honest with him, and patient.  

"Timmy?"  He turned to face her.  She was utterly open with him.  "Angelo knows that I only want to help him.  Now that I know you're here, I want to help you, too.  I may not know the right thing to do.  If I ask you about something and you don't want to talk about it, tell me, okay?  And if I make a mistake, if I hurt you, it's not on purpose.  I'll try my best not to do that.  I promise."

He laughed.  "I know that."  His laugh was in the octave of a man's voice, but held all the wonderful honesty of a child's, and it delighted her to hear it.  "Like I said, you're my friend."  His grammar was more complete than Angelo's, she had noted. 

"I'm glad you want to talk to me," she said.  "Anytime you want to, I'll be here.  And you have other friends here, too."  He didn't protest, so she continued.  "Jarod would love to see you again.  And Sydney, too.  You met Sydney before, haven't you?"

He nodded his head, still mute.  She said evenly, "It's up to you.  I won't tell them about you if you don't want me to.  But you and Angelo should both know that they are good friends to have, too.  They came back for Angelo like I did, and would be very, very happy to know about you."

He was not forthcoming with an answer.  "Well, no one says you have to decide right now.  You're in charge, Hoss."

"'Hoss.'  Jarod called Angelo that yesterday." Timmy said.

"Had he?  I don't remember," Grace said.  "Do you remember everything that Angelo does?"

Timmy nodded.  "Almost everything.  The really old stuff, no.  But I remember most of the rest.  Some things, like what Dr. Raines used to do to us, Angelo tries not to let me see.  Sometimes I do, though.  I don't think Angelo knows."

"It sounds like Angelo is your best friend."

"He knows almost everything about me."

"That's a special kind of friend to have."

"Do you have a friend like that?"

Her eyes went distant as she thought of Jon.  "I used to.  It was wonderful."

"But now it hurts?"  He looked at her with some anxiety.

"I can't talk to him anymore, and I miss that.  Yes, it hurts to miss him sometimes.  But it also makes me very, very happy to think about how good a friend he was, and how happy he made me."  Her grief had been sidelined by survival needs, but she had now come to terms with her need to remember him in spite of the pain that sometimes still knocked her about.  

"I don't want you to hurt."

"Thank you.  That's what a good friend would say.  But it's all right.  It's no fun to hurt, but I have the happy memories, too.  The happy feelings are worth sometimes having the sad ones.  And when I'm feeling sad and hurt, I try to remember the good things, too, and then it doesn't hurt as much."

Timmy considered this.  "What if you forget about the good things?"

"Then hopefully some of my other friends will help me remember."

Timmy was quiet for a moment.  When he spoke, the words came slowly.  "Angelo is my friend.  You are my friend, too."  He paused.  "I would like more friends.  Tell Jarod and Sydney I will talk to them, too."

Grace was relieved.  "I think that's a very good idea."

He closed his eyes.  "I'm tired.  We want to go to sleep."

She was reluctant to let him go, but had to trust he would be back.  "Okay, Timmy.  I'll be around when you want to come back.  And thank you."

Timmy opened his eyes again.  "For what?"

"You've given me your friendship.  That's a real gift – a whole lot of gifts, rolled into one.  I'm very happy.  Thank you."

His eyes closed, he smiled at her.  "You're welcome."

***   ***   ***   ***   ***

Angelo resurfaced briefly, announced that he was tired, and left for his bed.  Grace sat down at the table, feeling simultaneously exhilarated and wrung out.  She looked at her watch.  Less than an hour since the others had left.  How was she going to make it until they returned?  She thought in unproductive circles for twenty minutes, then got up, recognizing the need to change position and focus.  She fed a few sticks into the woodstove and settled into an armchair, concentrating on her breathing.  Come on, come on, calm down, now, she told herself.  Eventually she slowed her thoughts down enough to put most of them aside, and concentrate.

When she opened her eyes again, Angelo was watching her benignly.  I must have fallen asleep, she realized.  The sun had moved – it was almost noon.  

"Hungry." Angelo said.  He held up the apple Timmy had bitten, now browned, biting into it himself.  

"Do you want some lunch?" Grace asked.  He watched her, preferring not to answer.  "Soup sounds good to me.  How about you?"

She got up smoothly and moved into the kitchen.  She wanted to continue the comfortable routine they had established, hoping to maintain the level of trust Angelo seemed to have placed in her.  Opening the cupboard door, she called out "Tomato or clam chowder?"  Angelo regarded the apple.  "Red," he said.  "Tomato, then," she answered him.  

They sipped soup from mugs, dropping cracker crumbs on the table between them.  Angelo played with the crumbs, pushing them into small piles.  

"Angelo?"  He looked up at her, then back to his crackers.  "Is there something you want me to do?"  He was silent, and mashed his fingertip into the cracker crumbs, obliterating the piles he had made.  He stood and walked out the door.  Grace was slightly alarmed.  She watched him standing on the porch like a statue in the cold Idaho air.  After a minute, she joined him, holding a warm coat out to him.  He looked at her and smiled.  Breathing a sigh of relief, she helped him shrug into his coat.  They sat on the top step and looked out at the trees.  

"Help."  He spoke the single word without eye contact, then looked directly at her.  

"I will help you and Timmy.  We all will," she said.

"Safe."

She nodded.  "We won't let you go back there.  They won't hurt us again."  Angelo rubbed his temples, flashing to a memory of the intense pain of the electricity coursing through his head.  That pain had been a frequent visitor for most of his years at the Centre.  It was only relatively recently that Raines had discontinued all shock treatments whatsoever – about the same time that they started calling upon his talents to try to track Jarod.  A sly smile played across his lips.

"Angelo keeps Jarod safe."

Grace looked at him inquisitively.  "Did you help Jarod hide from the Centre?"

His smile broadened, his eyes mirthful.  

"Sydney has told me that you have often helped them at the Centre.  You know things, you gave them things." 

Angelo was quite obviously pleased with himself.  "Help friends."

"You've got it, Hoss.  That's what friends do."

***   ***   ***   ***   ***

The afternoon grew dark with steely grey clouds.  Sunset was barely noticeable in the declining light.  Angelo and Grace spent the time talking sporadically, but Timmy did not resurface.  The temperature dropped drastically.  They carried in armload after armload of wood, piling it high on the porch after they had fully stocked the wood box.  Snow flurried like moths in the light from the cabin windows as they brought up the final loads.  

Grace stomped her feet and brushed bark and dirt off herself.  Angelo watched her and aped her motions.  She laughed and helped brush him off.  She was rewarded by a chuckle, a new sound from him.  They took the precaution of getting two snow shovels from the garage and stowing them in the cabin.  Idaho blizzards were legendary, and they were taking no chances.

"I wonder where they are?" she said, referring to Jarod and Sydney.  "Coming," said Angelo easily.  They went inside to fix hot chocolate.  Angelo stuck his finger in the cocoa and then into his mouth.  He screwed up his face at the bitter taste.  

Headlights swung across the walls as the Expedition turned into the yard and came to a stop in front of the porch.  Grace turned off the stove and opened the door.  "The storm chased us all the way here," Sydney called.  "Help us get these things inside."  All four of them shuttled bags and boxes into the cabin.  Sydney hopped into the SUV to pull it into the garage.  Grace ran to lift the door for him.  He drove the vehicle in and cut the engine.  "It promises to be a big one," he said, climbing out.  Talk of the weather ended, however, when he saw Grace's expression.  "What is it?"

"Something's happened, Syd.  Thank God you're back."  

He searched her eyes rapidly.  No indication of danger, but she was definitely in a hurry to tell him something.  He didn't have to wait.

"Angelo approached me after you left.  He said Timmy wanted to talk to me."

Sydney was astounded.  "Timmy?" he exclaimed quietly.  "My God!"  

She nodded.  "He said Timmy was inside.  He told me that both he and Timmy knew who I was, that Dr. Raines had me."  Sydney nodded at that; they had suspected as much during the flight across country, but Angelo had seemed reluctant to say more about it during the past few days.  

"Did you talk to Timmy?"

Grace nodded again, her eyes wide.  "Briefly.  He seems to trust me, and is willing to talk to you and Jarod, too.  God, Syd, I have no idea if I screwed things up.  I had no idea what to do."

"What did Timmy tell you?"  She quickly described their short conversation.  Sydney watched her closely as she talked, his thoughts a leap ahead of her.  He asked what Angelo did afterwards and listened with his hand to his chin, nodding.  When she finished, she asked, "What should I have done?"

He shook his head.  "I have no idea.  I don't think you hurt anything.  He was looking for an opportunity to initiate this – that's why he didn't want to come with us today.  He had made up his mind to approach you alone.  He clearly identifies with you, and understandably so.  What surprises me is that he is allowing you to tell us about him.  He's been hiding for decades – this is a big change in a very short time."

Sydney was nearly wild with excitement.  "Grace, we thought that Timmy was unrecoverable.  We came very close a few years ago, but the process was interrupted and we thought the damage was irreversible..."  He went on to sketch the experimental serum they had seen such incredible results with, only to have Timmy give his final dose to Raines' newest victim, a young boy named Davy.  "Let him be a boy," Timmy had insisted.  Timmy's rapid decline was met by Angelo's supposedly permanent reemergence, and there had been no indication of Timmy's survival at all – until now.

They pulled the garage door shut and ran back to the cabin though the sharp wind.  Inside, Jarod and Angelo were unpacking the groceries like two little boys – bags were emptied on counters as they dug for treats.  Cracker Jacks were unearthed and immediately torn into, groceries forgotten.  

Sydney and Grace stowed things away, watching Angelo and talking quietly.  Angelo looked up at them once or twice, aware of their scrutiny, they knew, but not uncomfortable.

Hot chocolate finally ready, all four settled in to listen to the howling wind rise.  The woodstove was the focus of the room, and they were cozy and unconcerned about the weather outside.  Jarod and Angelo pelted each other with candy-coated popcorn in good-natured high spirits.  It was as if the excitement of the day had infected them all.

Grace sat down next to Angelo.  There was a pause in the Cracker Jack skirmish as both Angelo and Jarod grinned sheepishly.  Grace couldn't help but be amused – it was as if she and Sydney were the parents tonight, she thought.  Then she sobered.

"Angelo – we need to talk to you," she said.  He looked at her expectantly, knowing what was coming.  "I told Sydney about our talk today.  I'd like to tell Jarod now."  She watched him closely.  Angelo looked across the Cracker Jack-littered battlefield at Jarod.  Jarod looked back and forth between them.  Angelo nodded.

"Jarod," Grace began quietly, "Angelo has a secret he wants us to know."   Angelo, his eyes downcast, watched his friend across the floor in brief, nervous bursts.  Jarod sat forward, his forearms on his knees, hands clasped.  Grace continued, "Angelo is not alone.  Timmy is with him."

Jarod was stunned.  He stared openly at Angelo, who looked back nervously.  Jarod moved with easy speed across the room to kneel at Angelo's feet, searching his face.  Speaking to Grace and Sydney without looking at them, he asked, "Is it true?"

"Grace spoke with Timmy this morning," Sydney said.  Angelo nodded twitchingly.

"My God.  It's fantastic!"  Jarod's face lit as he grabbed Angelo in a bear hug.  Grace inhaled sharply; she thought the sudden movement might upset the fragile young man.  Sydney laid a restraining hand on her arm and shook his head.  He was right.  Angelo froze for a moment, she saw, but then awkwardly patted Jarod's back.

Jarod pulled away, still holding Angelo by the shoulders, again searching his face for signs of... what?  He remembered the bright, sensitive and compassionate man he had known all too briefly years before.  Angelo smiled lopsidedly and shrugged one shoulder, almost apologetically.  "Timmy inside," he offered.

"Angelo," Sydney said.  Angelo looked at the psychologist, his smile disappearing.  Sydney paused and let his face relax into a gentle smile.  It had the desired effect – Angelo relaxed visibly in response.  Only then did Sydney continue.

"This is very good news.  If you and Timmy want to talk to any of us, we're here.  We'll help you in any way we can.  You're both safe with us."

"That's a promise," Jarod added.  The seriousness of the moment could not last, given Jarod's level of excitement.  The dumping of the remainder of Angelo's Cracker Jack over his head was Jarod's way of relieving the tremendous emotional stress of the moment, Sydney supposed.  But it made for one hell of a sticky mess.

***   ***   ***   ***   ***

Feedback can be sent to pangurban42@yahoo.com - and thank you. 


	8. Mindgames Part 8

Mindgames – Part 8

by **Pangur Bàn**

Rating (PG, PG13, R) : R  
Spoilers : probably

Disclaimer:  Steven Long Mitchell & Craig W. Van Sickle created the characters of the television series "The Pretender."  This fan fiction is purely for entertainment purposes (chiefly my own, admittedly.)  No profit is being made here. No infringement is intended.  

 *****     *****     *****     *****     *****     *****     *****     *****     *****

Snow fell for two days.  Drifts piled up against the cabin, and frequently they made token attempts at clearing the porch and the dooryard as far as the garage, but there was no reason for them to try to get out of the driveway.  Truth be told, there would be nowhere to go if they did – local roads were not to be cleared for another two days.  The decision to lay in supplies had been a good one, worthy of one born to this country.

Angelo and Timmy were of course the focus of attention.  Timmy made a few sorties during the following days.  At first it was only when Grace was at hand; he seemed to prefer to have her nearby, although he was willing to talk with the others, and upon occasion would even continue talking with them after Grace left the room.  It was the third day, however, before he came forward alone to Sydney.

The two were shoveling in the yard, and Sydney had paused to catch his breath.  Unwilling to say anything about it, he at least had to acknowledge to himself that the uncomfortable tightness around his chest was not something to push too far.  Planting his snow shovel, he leaned on the handle and wiped his face with the back of his mitten.  He noticed the other looking at him.  Fearing a snowball fight coming on (another one of Jarod's contributions to Angelo's "Outside (of the Centre) Experiences"), Sydney held up his hands in mock surrender.  He was greeted with an easy laugh.  "Don't worry.  I won't hurt you."  It was the more fluid grammar that they had come to recognize as Timmy's.  

"Hello, Timmy," Sydney smiled broadly, pleased at the appearance.  "I'm happy to see you again.  Tell me, who has been doing all this shoveling with me, you or Angelo?"

"Me, for most of it," Timmy bragged.  

"Well, thank you, both of you.  This is hard work.  It's nice to have friends to help me."

Timmy smiled at the compliment, and then asked, "Do you think we could take a break?  I'd like to talk to you."

Sydney nodded.  "I think that's a good idea.  I don't want to overexert myself.  I'm not as young as I used to be."

Timmy furrowed his brow at the expression.  "No, you're not," he deadpanned.  "And you're a lot older than me."

Sydney chose to let that one pass, unsure if Timmy was joking or serious.  "Shall we go inside?" he offered.

Timmy shook his head.  "Can we go for a walk instead?"

Once they busted through the drifts near the tree line, the woods were actually quite pleasant, and the walking not too difficult, at least for a little way.  They made their way a few dozen yards into the woods, and then found a seat on a windfall.  They talked for nearly an hour before noticing that feet and hands had become numb.  Carefully they picked their way back.  

The smell of stew rushed out the door to meet them, and Sydney became aware of his great hunger.  As usual, Timmy was tired after the prolonged session, and Angelo reemerged, heading off for a nap.  Jarod, Sydney, and Grace sat down at the table.  Sydney ate quickly, outlining those things Timmy had told him which were for the others' ears as well.

"There was a significant step today," he said.  "He told me he wishes us to call him 'Tim," now, rather than 'Timmy.'  It marks a progression of self-identity beyond his time at the Centre."

"Syd, how old is he?" Grace asked.  

"That's a good question.  As best I can tell, he is, for all intents and purposes, as old as Angelo.  He seems to have been observing almost all of Angelo's experiences, making them his own.  He is remarkably well adjusted in relating to others, considering his lack of practical experience.  I suspect that at least some of Angelo's empathic abilities are subconsciously present in Tim.  Of course, we have only seen him interacting with the three of us, with whom he feels safe.  I'm anxious to see how he relates to others."

Grace excused herself to go to the bathroom.  When she came back, Jarod was standing by the table and Sydney was still seated; both were apparently done eating.  She began to clear the table when Sydney reached for her wrist.  "Grace.  Let that go for a moment."  She looked at their sober faces.  "Sit down," Sydney said.  Jarod held a chair for her.

"Tim told me something that will be hard for you to hear," he said in his gentle and sensitive manner.  Grace quelled her racing thoughts and waited.  "You know how Angelo was uniquely plugged into the Centre.  He had an inexplicable amount of knowledge about Centre activities."  She nodded, still listening.  

"Several months ago, Angelo saw that the Centre was tracking someone who had posed a possible threat to them.  He kept tabs on their proceedings, even after he found out that it was not Jarod, this time."  Grace looked at Jarod, who remained silent, his eyes intently on her.

"Who were they tracking?  You, Syd?  Me?"  Was it possible that they had found her again?

Sydney reached for her hand with both of his.  "Grace – they were looking for Jon."

The words hit her with a physical force.  She welcomed the shock – she did not particularly want to think this through.  Sydney kept talking, however.

"The night he was killed, he made a call before we went out to dinner."

Grace shook her head, remembering.  "Yeah, he – he called home, to check on some business dealing or other."

Jarod found his voice.  It was dark and menacing.  "The Centre had tapped his phone and traced the call back to the hotel."

She swung her head to look at Jarod flanking her other side.  "But, that makes no sense.  Why follow Jon?  How could they have known he was associated with you?"

Sydney's voice cracked with emotion.  "The Centre wasn't after Jarod that night, or me, or you.  They were after Jon."

She was stunned into silence.  Jarod railed silently, furious with himself for the unavoidable relief he felt even in the face of Grace's pain.  He, like the others, had assumed that Jon's murder had been a direct result of his involvement with Jarod, and that Jon had simply been in the way.  Knowing that Jon was their primary target, and that he, Jarod, had been there as a bystander relieved him of that guilt.  The absolution carried with it a sense of undeniably selfish pleasure, which disgusted him.

When Grace was able to speak, she managed a single weak word.  "Why?"

"Tim said Angelo found evidence that Jon had hired the Centre a few years ago to engineer the collapse of an small English investment company, which they did."  Grace was confused.  That did not sound like the ethical friend she had known and loved.  "Then, about the time you met Jarod, he started making inquiries about the Centre again.  That triggered certain – precautions – at the Centre.  When he abruptly dropped out of their sights, activities came to frenzy.  The Centre discovered that the company they had toppled for him was Jon's own.  More digging uncovered hints of Jon's mental abilities.  At that point, Raines attempted to persuade the Triumvirate to bring Jon in to the Centre, but they determined that Jon posed too great a hazard to them.  They lost him when he came to us, but picked him up again when he called home that night."

Sydney stopped talking.  He could see the intense grief in Grace's eyes.  Jarod himself was dangerously close to exploding.  Sydney warned Jarod mutely – not now, she needs us.  Jarod understood.

Grace stood and picked up a bowl.  She carried it wordlessly to the sink, leaning on the counter.  The two men watched her with concern.  They stood and approached softly.  Without turning, she said in little more than a whisper, "Will it ever end?"

They led her to the couch.  Sydney sat next to her, his arm around her.  Jarod sat on the arm, holding her hand, feeling helpless rage at the Centre.  Not content to destroy yet another life that inconvenienced them, they had to hurt those left behind again and again.

Grace spoke quietly, maintaining control of her voice with difficulty.  "When I first came to Jon, I told him very little about the Centre.  He knew they had abducted me, and that they had done this to me.  Eventually he came to know about Raines, but he always respected my privacy about this.  He never forced me to tell him anything, and never pried beyond what I wanted or needed to tell him.

"At first I didn't want to tell him about the Centre because I wanted that to be private – to shelter that part of my life from everyone, Jon included.  Later, after I found out what really happened to my family, I wanted to shelter Jon from the Centre.  I never told him the truth.  I knew that if he found out, that he would try to bring the Centre to justice, and then they would kill him."

"Apparently, he decided to look into the Centre for himself," Sydney said.

"And they killed him for it," Jarod said.

"All because he knew me," Grace said.

"Grace.  You mustn't blame yourself.  This was the Centre's doing," Sydney tried.

"I was the link," she said.  Neither man could think of anything to say.  It was the same brick wall which each of them had hit in thinking about their own involvement with the Centre.  There was never a satisfactory answer to it – no way around it.  All three sat in silence.  Grace allowed her head to lie on Sydney's shoulder, but her eyes refused to close.  

Angelo emerged from his room a few minutes later.  He walked directly to Grace and sat on the floor at her feet, laying his head in her lap.  She understood the expression of his regret and camaraderie, and stroked his head quietly.  The Centre had done so much to the four of them; they were a family joined in tragedy and in purpose as well as in friendship.  

***   ***   ***   ***   ***

Tim made more appearances, staying longer each time.  One bright afternoon while Jarod was working on the computer, he approached Sydney who was stirring a pot at the stove, peering out the window at Grace on the porch.  

"Tell her."

Sydney started.  He had to look twice at the man standing behind him.  Yes, it was Tim – he was becoming easier to recognize now.  But damn if his empathic ability didn't spook them from time to time.  Unlike Grace, he had no qualms about using this sense of his like any of his others, and was seemingly oblivious to the discomfort it could cause now and again.

"Tell her what?" Sydney attempted stupidly.  Tim snorted and walked away.

***   ***   ***   ***   ***

Sydney was acutely aware of Tim and Angelo watching him around Grace over the next couple of days.  It seemed like he was always finding himself alone with Grace, and would quickly find an excuse to be elsewhere occupied.  Once she noticed it, Grace was at first puzzled, then annoyed.  She finally took the bull by the horns one evening.

"Sydney, this has gotten ridiculous.  It's a small cabin, and we're bound to step on each others' toes sometime, but I honestly have no idea why you're peeved with me."

He retreated calmly, although his heart was pounding.  "I don't understand what you're talking about."

"Baloney.  You know darn well that you take off whenever I'm around and no one else is."

"I'm sure you're mistaken," he said infuriatingly pleasantly.  "Now if you'll excuse me... nature calls.  Please don't be insulted."  He turned and left the room.

Grace was irate, and grabbed a coat.  She left for a little of her own company.  Unwilling to stand in the wind for long, she sought asylum in the garage.  She was surprised to see Angelo seated in the backseat of the car.  The other backseat door was open, like an invitation.  She supposed it was entirely possible that he was waiting for her.  She stuck her head in the door.

"Hi.  What are you doing out here?"

"Waiting."  Angelo looked at the seat next to him.

She thought it only fair to warn him.  "I'm afraid I'm not very good company right now."

He looked at the seat again.  She sighed and climbed in, managing to smile in the process.  "Okay, if you think you can stand me."

She closed the door behind her.  Angelo promptly opened his door, got out and left the garage.  Slightly surprised, she muttered "Wise move," and laid her head back, closing her eyes.

A few minutes later she heard him reenter the garage.  She felt the Expedition jounce as he got in and closed the door.  Eyes still closed, she said, "Back for more, huh?  Glutton for punishment, kiddo?"

"I guess so," came the accented reply.  She opened her eyes to Sydney seated next to her, facing the front seat.  She gave a short and good-natured laugh.  "I thought you were Angelo coming back."

"Angelo?  I just spoke with Tim.  He told me to come out here.  He was most insistent, actually."

She let that slide for the moment, choosing safer ground.  "We're seeing a lot more of Tim now, aren't we?  I mean, more spontaneously, more casually."  

"I think Tim is moving toward becoming the dominant personality."

"Sydney, I know that the sum total of my knowledge of multiple personality disorder is a short paragraph, and is soundly based in what I've seen on the soap operas..."  Sydney laughed quietly through his nose.  "...but I'm wondering – what happens to Angelo if Tim re-emerges – becomes the dominant personality?  Will Angelo disappear?"

Sydney shifted in the seat to face her, his back to the door.  "It's possible, yes.  Angelo is a personality Timmy's psyche created to protect him from Raines.  Tim is starting to feel safe without Angelo's being between him and the world.  One day he will be willing to fend for himself.  At some point, Angelo may no longer just be submerged, but may actually cease to be.  We can't be certain, of course, but it's a good possibility."

Grace was quiet for a moment.  "If that happens, I will mourn him.  I've come to really love him."

Sydney agreed.  "I think we will all miss Angelo, and even grieve for him.  But we must remember that this is a healing process for Tim.  And Angelo's experiences are very much integrated into Tim already.  When his 'we' becomes 'I,' he will still remember his life as Angelo in the Centre, but it will be a signal that he feels ready to deal with those memories as Tim."

She nodded quietly.  "Thank you for that.  Keep me on track if I lose sight of that, will you?  I don't want my affection for Angelo to stand in the way of Tim's healing."

"I'm sure it won't."  They fell quiet, and felt the recent awkwardness begin to reassert itself.  

Grace sighed.  She did her best to keep her voice calm and non-confrontational.  "Look, Syd, I'm not sure what's up with us, and if you don't want to discuss it, that's okay with me.  But you've got to figure out a way to get over it and get on with it.  We've got too much to do to let the little piddly stuff get in our way," she said kindly.  "What do you say?"

He spoke slowly.  "I don't think I'm going to "get over" this."  He turned to look at her, and was touched by the concern on her face.

"Let me help," she said.  "Whatever it is."

He smiled and shook his head.  "I don't think I want to get over this," he said softly.  "Tim is right.  I need to tell you what I'm feeling."  He looked at her openly, hiding nothing.  "How I feel about you.  I love you, Grace."

She said nothing, merely closed her eyes and smiled.  When she opened her eyes again, she looked at him as honestly and openly as he did.  He knew her answer, and gathered her into his arms.

***   ***   ***   ***   ***

"Grace!  Grace!  My God, wake up!  Grace!"  Sydney's urgency slowly penetrated her veil of deep, deep sleep.  She struggled to awaken as he shook her by the arm, gripping so tightly in his panic that bruises would arise in another day.

She pulled her eyes open to the fading look of dread on his face.  "What is it?"  Grace strained her ears for sounds of danger even as she searched his face.  Reach, she told herself, foggily striving to sense danger in the minds around her.  She checked herself as she watched his face start to relax.  

"Nothing, it's all right, everything's all right," Sydney said.  "I just... You were sleeping so deeply, I couldn't seem to wake you.  I was a little frightened."

"Oh, Syd.  I'm sorry.  _C'est tout de ma faute_.  I put myself out like that, a sleep-meditation thing.  I didn't tell you.  I didn't want you to worry," she smiled wryly, tiredly.  She was still groggy.  "I didn't want you to feel you had to stay awake, _en garde_."

The slipped back and forth from English to French easily.  She was glad for the chance to practice the language, and they both enjoyed the absolutely false sense of added privacy it gave them.  Jarod, of course, spoke like a native, and Angelo understood the sentiments as clearly as the spoken English word.  Perhaps intimacy was a better word;  _le mot juste_.

Grace put her hand on Sydney's cheek.  "I'm so sorry, Chou.  I won't do that again."

He smiled into her eyes, and her heart leapt.  "At least not without telling me."

"Promise," she said, sealing it with a kiss.

Sydney was up on one elbow.  They were in her bed, he clad in pajama trousers, she in a large nightshirt and panties.  He had joined her there after the others had retired.  After just having confessed his feelings for her, he needed to be near her, if only to hold her.  They had lain together, talking in low tones until he had dropped off, happy with her closeness.  When he had awoken, she lay stone-still at his side.  He had smiled, thinking to awaken her with a kiss.  When she didn't stir at his lips, he had kissed her again.  Puzzled at the lack of response, he thought to himself, I must be losing my touch.  He picked up her wrist to hold her hand.  Her arm was limp and cool to the touch.  Fear rising in his throat, he looked at her chest, staring hard until he saw the very slight rise of her breathing.  Her pulse was steady and slow.  The horrible, irrational image of finding her dead, so soon after first admitting their love for each other, receded like a nightmare.  Still, like a nightmare, the after-taste of terror prevented his settling back into sleep.  He spoke her name quietly into her ear, and then shook her arm gently, then more forcibly as the dread rose again.

But it was all right now.  She was awake, smiling, whispering French endearments.  He kissed her softly, and she responded in kind.  _Tiens, que tu t'endormes, il fait toujours tot,_ she said.  He nodded, kissing her again, but rather than returning to sleep, he drew back for a moment, then returned to her lips.  Thoughts of sleep evaporated in a pleasant haze of passion.  Their kisses became deep and languorous, tenderly taking their time as they explored each other with lips and tongue.  Sydney moved his hand from her neck to her breast.  He watched her eyes for signals.  Too much, too soon?  Her eyes said it wasn't.  He smiled.  _Tu es sur_? he asked.  She nodded, her eyes closing as she exhaled.  Their faces were inches apart.  "Syd," she said, opening her eyes and finding his fully attentive.  _Ca fait longtemps – douze ans, au moins – depuis que... que je me suis couchee avec un homme.  Et ca n'etait qu'une seule fois_.  She smiled and laughed a little_.  'Sais pas comment faire_, she admitted.  His heart swelled with love for her.  He wanted to protect her forever.  He kissed her eyelids gently.  _On apprendra ensemble, tous les deux_, he said. 

He listened to her altered breathing and to her tiny sounds as his lips explored further what his fingers had found.  His fingers discovered other tender, sensitive areas to explore.

After a few minutes, he returned to her neck and lips.  Lying on their sides, face to face, she put her mouth to his ear.  _Et toi?_ she breathed_.  Qu'est-ce que tu veux que je fasse? _He thrilled to the feeling of her warm breath so close to his ear as she nibbled and kissed.  He unthinkingly moved his lower trunk toward her, their legs entwining, the pressure against his genitals exquisite.  She wrapped her arm around his lower back, pulling herself tighter against him in reply_.  Tu aimes ma jambe tout contre toi?_ she said.  He responded wordlessly.  _Et puis, quoi d'autre?_ she continued.  _Tu vuex mes doigts, peut-etre?_  She slid her hand over his hip and found what she sought.  Time slowed as he warmed to her touch.  _Ou bien, mes levres?_  He opened his eyes, a little surprised to discover that he had closed them.  He looked at her with such tenderness and vulnerablility, his desire silent and clear.  Her whisper continued with a smile.  _Tu es trop grand, trop gros, pour te prendre entierement dans la bouche... mais je veux essayer..._

Her hair tickled as her lips traced a path down his chest.  Time stood still.  The warmth Sydney felt became heat, became burning.  His fingers tangled in her hair, urging them both onward.  He moaned, lowly and gutturally.  "Chou – it's been so long... _apres tout ce temps... j' peut pas_..."  He cleared his throat hoarsely afterward, chagrin and pleasure at once evident in his smile.  She nestled into the hollow of his shoulder.

_J'suis desole_, he murmured.  She laughed lightly and quietly.  _Pas moi_, she assured him with a kiss on his neck, just under his chin.  "I hear that the winters in Idaho can be very long – and cold," she said mischievously.  He held her close.  _Pas dans ta chaleur_, he whispered.

They slept in each others' arms, blissful and content.  Well before dawn, Sydney awoke with the need to use the bathroom.  She opened her eyes as he stirred.  "Morning, Chou," he said.  "Mmm," she replied sleepily.  He looked at her apologetically.  "Grace, I think I... I'd better head back to my room."  She smiled her understanding.  He kissed her lovingly, hating to leave her.  "Go back to sleep.  I'll see you in a few hours," he promised.  She burrowed down, claiming the warmth his body had left behind.  He retrieved his pajama top from the chair, smiling as she immediately began snoring gently.  Regretfully closing the door behind him, Sydney padded down the hall to the bathroom.

Lost in his memories of the previous night, he bumped into Angelo on his way back to his room.  "Ah!  Excuse me, Angelo.  Good morning," Sydney said.  Angelo had noted the man's smile and was reflecting it.  "The bathroom is free.  I'm going back to bed for awhile."  Sydney touched the younger man on the arm as he passed by, thinking, Angelo certainly looks relaxed this morning.  Funny - Angelo was thinking the same thing about him.

***   ***   ***   ***   ***

All during the previous night and the day that followed, the skies had brought more snow; fat, wet flakes, which clung to the cabin walls and broke tree branches with their weight.  It snowed all day long, piling high and heavy.  Perfect for snowmen, impromptu battles and walks in the silent woods, little headway in clearing the yard was made when all four declared a snow day of sorts.  Spirits were high and the relatively warm day had them all playing out of doors until cold and hunger drove four tired people inside.  

After supper, the warm living room invited all to laziness.  Soft music played – Grace was quick to drop off.  Jarod pulled himself out of the armchair with an effort and turned his attention to his computer once again.  Angelo sat beside him; his innate talent and intuition were invaluable in Jarod's electronic forays into the Centre and elsewhere.  Sydney, unwilling to nap himself, watched Grace for a few moments.  Memories of the previous evening and thoughts of the coming night made him smile.  He shook himself mentally.  Needing a physical distraction, he pulled on boots and coat.  He retrieved his still-damp mittens from the top of the woodpile near the stove, grimacing as he pulled them on his hands.  "I'm going to go out and shovel for a little while," he said quietly.  Jarod nodded absently, barely hearing him as he watched, fascinated what his partner was doing on the computer.

Exiting the cabin, he picked up one of the shovels leaning against the rail.  He stood at the top of the porch stairs, surveying the dark yard.  The immediate area was illuminated by the cabin's light.  The snow had practically stopped.  He picked his way down the stairs and across the yard to the garage.  Once his eyes dark-acclimated, there was just enough light for him to work by.  He dug in, quickly becoming short of breath as his shovel bit into the heavy snow.  He was somewhat annoyed that they had forgone this chore earlier.  Still, he had thoroughly enjoyed the sneak attack he had launched on Jarod earlier that afternoon.  Considering the level of stress that was now integral in their lives, a little play was a good thing.  But now it was back to responsibilities.  

His head began to ache as he lifted load after load of the sodden snow.  His ears ringing, he pushed himself onward, determined to at least clear this area before calling it quits.  He bent to lift another shovel-full when a searing-hot pain wrapped him in a vicious bear hug.  He struggled to remain upright, leaning on the shovel handle.  Losing strength in his hands, the shovel dropped silently into the snow.  Sydney followed suit.

He lay there, unaware of the cold, concentrating on his racing, erratic heartbeat.  He tried to will it to slow down and even out, cursing himself for his stupidity.  Just as the pain seemed to be abating, a fresh wave hit.  Its clutch was unrelenting; Sydney could make no noise other than a quiet groan.  The world was growing more and more distant as his hearing and sight disappeared.  He cried in his mind, No, not now, please, not now...

***   ***   ***   ***   ***

Angelo looked up, agitated.  Jarod was engrossed in what he they were doing on the screen.  Angelo grabbed him violently.  Jarod was startled by the interruption, and then again by his friend's expression.  "Hurt!" Angelo said urgently.  

"What is it?" Jarod asked.  Angelo, with no more words at his disposal, replied with a distraught vocalization and knocked over his chair as he bolted up and out the door.  Jarod followed with deep concern.  

It took Jarod a moment to locate Angelo.  He was kneeling in the shadows near the garage, cradling Sydney's head awkwardly in his lap.  "God, no.  Sydney!!" Jarod shouted, stumbling and slipping as he raced across the yard.  He slid to his mentor's side, hesitating, unwilling to confirm what he already suspected.  He reached for a pulse and found none.  Jarod hyperventilated as he looked at his Sydney's pallid face and blue lips, shaking his head as he denied the truth.

"No!"  The cry echoed dully off the buildings and was quickly muffled by the snow-laden surfaces.  Pushing Angelo fiercely back into the snow, he tilted Sydney's head back and delivered two forceful breaths into the older man's cold mouth.  Quickly shifting positions, he began chest compressions.  He counted to fifteen, delivered two more breaths, then returned to the chest.  "Come on, damn it!  Don't you die on me!  Don't you leave me!  Don't you leave me!"  Jarod continued CPR, unaware of the passing of time, oblivious to the cold, unmindful of his own sobs as he furiously and vainly tried to beat life back into the body beneath him.

When he finally leaned back, drained and done in, he slowly came to recognize that Grace and Angelo knelt beside him.  Jarod looked at her, no words possible, his face shattered in grief.  She looked silently from him to the still form.  Her heart, too, was in pieces.  She picked up Sydney's hand, peeling off the wet mitten, holding the icy fingers to her cheek.  He was gone; she had realized it as soon as Angelo led her outside.  

***   ***   ***   ***   ***

Jarod retrieved the pick and shovels.  The final betrayal, he thought.  One last thing I should have been able to do for you, and I let you down, even in death.  You should be lying next to Jacob, in the place you loved.  I am so sorry, Sydney.  For all of this.

Slowly he turned to look at the others standing at the gravesite in the frozen woods.  Angelo stood off a little way, hugging himself.  Grace's hands hung empty at her sides.

Swallowing a lump, Jarod approached Grace.  She looked at him vacantly, her face showing nothing but distant pain, and nodded.  She turned and made her way out of the tiny glen, leaving behind her the unmarked grave where Sydney's body lay hidden.  They might never be able to move him from this site, they both knew.  It hurt too much to think of the crude tomb they made for him being permanent.  They didn't speak of it.

Jarod replaced the tools in the garage and climbed the porch stairs heavily.  He washed his hands in the kitchen sink.  Grace was stunned to see him sit down at the computer and turn it on.  

"What are you doing?" she asked in disbelief.

He knew exactly what she meant, but answered her question literally.  "I'm searching for records of the Centre's dealings with eastern-European regimes in the late 1970's and early eighties..."

"Now?" she questioned, her anger rising.  "We just buried him."

"Do you have something else you want me to do?" he asked cruelly.  

Grace opened her mouth, then closed it, unable to speak.  She glared at him.  Turning, she left the room, shutting her bedroom door behind her.

Jarod pounded his fist on his thigh, fuming at himself and at her.  Most of all, he was furious with Sydney.  You shouldn't have left us, he cried out silently.  What are we going to do without you?  What will I do?

Angelo sat unobserved in a corner of the kitchen.  He felt helpless here.  If only he had his files, his DSA's, he could give Jarod what they needed.  That would make everything better, he reasoned.  But that meant going back to the Centre.  He was not afraid of recapture as such.  He had only the faintest concept of freedom versus captivity from a personal stand.  Those ideas really only applied to others, not to him.  For Angelo, it was only danger and safety in terms of pain that was really important.  He rubbed his temples as the memory of the pain resurfaced as a real sensation.  He whimpered, unnoticed by Jarod.

***   ***   ***   ***   ***

Feedback can be sent to pangurban42@yahoo.com - and thank you. 


	9. Mindgames Part 9

Mindgames – Part 9

by **Pangur Bàn**

Rating (PG, PG13, R) : PG13   
Spoilers : probably

Disclaimer:  Steven Long Mitchell & Craig W. Van Sickle created the characters of the television series "The Pretender."  This fan fiction is purely for entertainment purposes (chiefly my own, admittedly.)  No profit is being made here. No infringement is intended.  

 *****     *****     *****     *****     *****     *****     *****     *****     *****

The following days beat them into a semblance of a functional routine, but the feeling of family had been shattered.  It seemed to have died with Sydney.  Depression and grief drove Grace inside herself; to this mix Jarod added anger.  Angelo found himself more and more left to his own devices.  He frequently left for the woods for hours at a time.

A trip for supplies was badly needed.  The evening before, Jarod and Grace discussed what they needed.  Reluctantly, the subject of Angelo/Tim was brought up.

"We haven't seen Tim for quite a while," Grace said with a hint of worry.  Jarod had to agree.  "Not since before..."  He didn't finish the sentence.

Grace looked at him gently and nodded.  "He's taken it as hard as we have.  I'm afraid it may have really hurt him."

"We've been ignoring him, too."  Jarod paused, swallowing. "Grace, I know I've been hard on you.  I'm sorry."

"We all miss him," she said softly, grieving him silently.

"It must be especially difficult for you.  I know that you two had become...close."  Jarod recalled coming up on them silently, stalking them during the snowball fight that day.  He was surprised but not displeased to see them kissing tenderly, oblivious to Jarod's eyes.  He had retraced his steps, not wanting to disturb the moment.

Grace nodded.  She looked up at him.  "He was very special to you, too, Jarod.  We're none of us going to be able to replace him."

They were quiet for a moment.  Jarod broke the silence.  "I don't know how we're going to get through this."  Tears fell from her eyes as she reached across the table and put a hand on his arm.  He was unable to meet her eyes.  He put his head down on his arms and her hand, weeping.  They cried together for the tremendous loss they shared.

***   ***   ***   ***   ***

They made a bona fide effort to engage Angelo in conversation on the drive into town the following morning.  By unspoken agreement, neither Tim nor Sydney was mentioned.  It was their intention to try to reconnect with Angelo, letting him take the lead if he wanted to discuss recent happenings.  They talked about trivialities, commenting on the weather, the scenery, the shopping list.  Angelo answered in sporadic bursts, aware that some of the underlying tension between his two friends had abated.  The intense sadness was still there, though.  He, too, missed Sydney.  Tim, feeling everything, had retreated to watch.  Angelo once again protected him.  The two of them frequently conferred in brief but very complete images.  Tim was advocating returning to the Centre to get all the things they had stored in various cache-points.  Angelo overruled this, impressing on his charge the need to stay away from those who had hurt them for so long.

By the time they had arrived in Coeur d'Alene, Grace and Jarod were worn-out.  The little group found a grocery store and began touring the aisles.  They spoke little, but observed Angelo who was looking at everything with wide-eyed interest.  As they rounded a corner, Jarod nudged Grace and pointed his chin in Angelo's direction.  He was sniffing a silk flower bouquet, his eyes expressing confusion.  Whether he would know to expect one scent or another, they did not know.  It was evident, however, that he expected something.  Grace approached him, smiling. 

"Pretty flowers, Angelo."  He smiled and shrugged.  "Do you think they might brighten up the cabin a little?"  Angelo looked at her hopefully.  The flowers went into the shopping basket and his attention immediately shifted to a small ceramic cat he spied on the shelf.  Grace left him with Jarod and continued shopping.

Small talk was limited on the return trip.  Both Jarod and Grace were tired, and Angelo kept himself busy with the cat figurine.  Back at the cabin, grocery bags were shuttled into the kitchen quickly.  Jarod parked the vehicle while Grace began unpacking.  Each thought Angelo was with the other.  When they discovered him missing, neither was overly concerned.  Grace offered to look outside and Jarod said he would start dinner warming.

Donning a coat and boots, she searched the grounds for him.  The light was fading fast and she hoped he hadn't gone far.  She struck out into the woods and shortly found him sitting on a fallen trunk.

"Hey, Angelo.  I was looking for you.  Jarod's getting dinner on.  Hungry?"

He shook his head and pulled the cat from his pocket.  He looked at her meaningfully.  Slowly she approached him and sat at his side.  

"Sad." Angelo looked at her.  "Sad," he repeated for emphasis.

Grace closed her eyes and dropped her chin.  "We're all missing Sydney," she said, abandoning her intention to let Angelo broach the subject.  She was fairly confident that Angelo was referring to Sydney, anyway.

He nodded convulsively, and handed her the cat.  "From Sydney."  She had no idea what he meant, but smiled at him.  He was trying to cheer her up.  

"Sydney would be sad not to be here with you, too," she said.  "He liked you and Tim very much."  

"He loved you.  He was sad to die and leave you."

Grace looked up in surprise.  "Tim?  Hello."  She paused, drinking in his last words.  "Thank you for saying that.  It helps."  They both remembered their first conversation.  

Tim said, "You two didn't want to talk about him.  You forgot, Grace."  He smiled sadly.  "Friends help each other."

They sat quietly for a minute.  She did not want to push what he might or might not want to remember and talk about, but she needed to know.  "Tim, were you with him when he died?"

His eyes narrowed, and for a moment she thought he was retreating, but then heard him say,  "Angelo felt him dying.  He was very sad.  He wanted to stay with us."  Grace felt the words cut her, but nodded.  He did not misconstrue her silence for an attempt to hide from him; he knew she simply did not have any words at the moment.  

They heard Jarod approaching.  He moved toward them tentatively, not wanting to interrupt.  Grace wiped the tear from her cheek and said "Hi, Jarod.  Tim and I were just sitting here talking about Sydney."

Jarod looked at Tim.  "I'm glad you're back.  I've missed you."

Tim got up and moved to his friend, easily wrapping his arms around Jarod.  "We need to help each other remember Sydney.  Grace said that makes up for the sad feelings."

Jarod swallowed hard.  "It's hard.  It hurts.  But I'll try.  Anything you want to talk about is okay with me."  

They turned back for the cabin.  No one was hungry; they sat and talked and cried.  Tim left them after awhile and Angelo returned, content to largely watch his two friends finally really begin to heal again, helping each other.  It was late before they noticed that Angelo had fallen asleep on the floor by the woodstove.  Jarod carefully lifted him like a child and carried him to his bed.  Grace helped settle him in, covering him with a thick quilt.  They returned to the living room.  Grace settled on the couch; Jarod fed the woodstove and turned toward the chair in which he had sat for the last few hours.  Changing his mind, he joined Grace on the couch and put an easy arm around her.  There were no more words that night.  The two sat close, each content to know their friends were nearby, sharing their grief.  It did help.

***   ***   ***   ***   ***

The following morning, Grace awoke in her bed, covered with a thick quilt of her own.  Jarod must have deposited her there during the night.  Rolling out of bed, she padded out into the cold living room.  There were enough embers in the stove to revive the fire, and she tended to that before returning to her room to change.  

Jarod was not in the cabin; Angelo was still asleep.  Putting a kettle of water on, she stood by the window looking out.  Jarod was just emerging from the woods, blowing into his bare hands.  She opened the door for him as he climbed the steps.  

"Good morning," she called.  He greeted her in return.  His eyes were red rimmed.

"You're up early," she noted.  "I didn't sleep much," he confessed.  She moved into the kitchen to fix them each a cup of hot tea.  He stomped the snow off his feet and legs just inside the door and hung his coat on a peg.  He stopped for a long moment to finger Sydney's parka next to his.  Grace put a hand on his.  "Holy cow, you're freezing," she said.  "How long were you out there?"

He accepted the oversize mug of tea gratefully, wrapping his red fingers around it.  "A little while," he said.  He looked at her honestly.  "I went to his grave."  She nodded.  He didn't have to explain.  

"Grace – when this is all over – I want to move him.  I... I want to make sure that he..."

"Next to Jacob.  I know.  He'd want that.  We'll do it together," she said.

Jarod nodded, thankful that she understood.  "Angelo – or Tim – had been there," he told her.  "Those silk flowers were stuck in the snow."

Grace's eyes misted over.  She recalled the cat in her coat pocket, and told Jarod about it.  "What do you think it means?" she asked.  

Jarod shook his head.  "I don't know.  Maybe Angelo will tell us."

They sipped their tea, putting off the rest of the day as long as possible.  Finally, Jarod arose, declaring that he wanted oatmeal and chocolate milk.  Grace had to admit, it sounded good, and offered to prepare it.  Jarod slipped into his room to change out of the previous evening's clothes and take a hot shower.  He knocked on Angelo's door on the way to the bathroom, rousting the young man.  He stumbled into the living room, rubbing his eyes.  Grace greeted him with a smile.

"Morning," she said.  "I'm making oatmeal.  Sound good to you?"  

He nodded, and made his own contribution.  "Toast."  Seating himself at the table, he opened the bag of bread and slid two slices into the toaster.  Ducking, he brought his head down to the tabletop.  She watched him curiously as he looked at himself in the chrome side of the toaster.  He noticed her looking at him and smiled sheepishly.  

She understood.  Wiping her hands on a dishtowel, she stepped over to his side and squatted down.  Looking at their reflection in the toaster, she smiled.  "Bed-head," she said.  Surprising herself, she laughed, her first genuine laugh in an eternity.  Angelo looked delightedly at her open-mouthed smile in the chrome.  She planted a kiss on his cheek and returned to the stove.  Angelo, embarrassed but pleased, stared at the toaster.

She served up the oatmeal as Jarod joined them.  Angelo watched Jarod closely, mimicking him as he poured chocolate milk in his bowl.  Grace was struck again at the big brother/little brother relationship they had.  A pang of grief ambushed her as the memory of Sydney's long-suffering sigh as he pretended exasperation with the Cracker-Jack war unexpectedly popped up.  Was that really only a few weeks ago?  

Grace realized that Angelo and Jarod were both watching her, knowing she was remembering Sydney.  "I was just thinking about you two throwing Cracker Jacks at each other, and the look on Sydney's face."  Jarod grinned at Angelo.  Grace continued, "Did you know he stayed up that night, picking up all of those Cracker Jacks?  He didn't want to go to bed until he'd found them all."  Jarod and Grace laughed, as they would frequently over the next few weeks as they retold stories about Sydney.  Angelo and Tim presided over most of these stories, volunteering little, happy to simply see and hear them talking about Sydney.  Little by little, the sadness overtook them less and less often.  Friends, Tim/Angelo thought, were good things to have.  He wished he had made more friends, but there were so few people in the Centre to trust.  

***   ***   ***   ***   ***

Feedback can be sent to pangurban42@yahoo.com - and thank you. 


	10. Mindgames Part 10

Mindgames – Part 10

by **Pangur Bàn**

Rating (PG, PG13, R) : PG13   
Spoilers : probably

Disclaimer:  Steven Long Mitchell & Craig W. Van Sickle created the characters of the television series "The Pretender."  This fan fiction is purely for entertainment purposes (chiefly my own, admittedly.)  No profit is being made here. No infringement is intended.  

 *****     *****     *****     *****     *****     *****     *****     *****     *****

Angelo and Tim were in agreement about one thing: it was a Catch-22.  In order to retrieve the files and DSA's, they had to personally return to the Centre.  In order to return to the Centre safely, they needed what was in those files.  Over the course of a short week, the paradox became an obsession, and grew to be a point of contention between them.

Tim wanted to at least consider it.  Angelo, contrarily, was adamant.  He would not let Timmy return.  While he felt capable of dealing with the Centre, he was staunchly opposed to Timmy's coming anywhere near the place.  As Tim began to emerge more and more fully, Angelo struggled in a desperate attempt to protect his charge as he always had; he even began referring to him as "Timmy" once again.  

Jarod and Grace saw the signs of this struggle, and misinterpreted it as Angelo battling for survival.  Helpless to do anything but watch the process, they longed for Sydney's guidance.  Jarod spent endless hours on the Internet, delving into often-contradictory sources about dissociative identity disorders.  He felt uncharacteristically and infuriatingly powerless to do anything for either Tim or Angelo.

Grace was afraid to reach out to them.  She constantly reminded herself of the conversation she and Sydney had in the backseat of the Expedition the night before he died.  Please, she prayed, don't let me hurt either one of them. But in her heart, she was afraid she was watching Angelo disappear.

***   ***   ***   ***   ***

Angelo and Tim were becoming increasingly agitated.  Jarod and Grace saw the mounting frustration, culminating one afternoon in a tantrum that was just shy of rage.  Jarod tried to restrain Angelo and was summarily dumped backwards as Angelo threw him off.  Whirling around, he flung an arm out and put a hand through his bedroom window.  Glass flew out in shards and blood ran.  

This took the wind out of his sails.  Angelo stood and looked at the blood dripping down his wrist to his elbow.  Tears welled as he looked from it to Grace.  "Red," he moaned pitifully.  Grace grabbed the nearest available thing, a tee shirt off Angelo's bed.  Wrapping his hand in it, she led him gently but quickly to the bathroom.  Jarod followed and stood nearby, crowding the small space.  Grace washed his hand and they examined the wound.  Thankfully, the damage was minor and superficial.

"You won't need stitches, Angelo," he reassured him.  Jarod looked at Grace.  "His tetanus should be okay, too.  The Centre would have made sure he's current on all his vaccinations."

"Thank God," she said, smiling at Angelo.  "Reach me down the kit, will you, Jarod?"  The well-stocked first aid kit had been Sydney's contribution; he had foreseen an extended stay here and had obtained everything from band-aids to antibiotics.  Together they cleaned the cuts and applied antiseptic.  Angelo sniffed and flinched, but was cooperative.

The three went back into the living room.  Angelo sat on the arm of the couch, examining his bandaged hand and keeping an eye on his friends across the room.  The cold air poured into the cabin from Angelo's room.  "I'll find some boards to fix that," Jarod said.  He looked at Angelo.  From extreme agitation to utter calm – the transformation was unsettling.  "Grace," he said, "do you think he would talk to you?"

She looked at Angelo for a long moment.  "I think," she measured her words, "that we might need to talk – and...more."

Jarod understood.  "I'll leave the two of you alone for a while."

"Don't go too far," Grace said quickly.  Jarod nodded.

***   ***   ***   ***   ***

They heard Jarod pounding outside as he fixed a piece of plywood across the broken window space.  He worked quickly, wanting to get back inside to be close if needed.

Grace approached Angelo, watching his reactions closely.  "Angelo, how are you feeling?" she asked.  He held out his bandaged hand.  She took it gently.  "Does it hurt?"  He smiled and shrugged.  His smile faded as she looked at him carefully.

"Angelo, you were pretty upset earlier."  She paused.  Take this slowly, she reminded herself.  She gave him time to absorb what she said, then continued.  "When I'm upset, sometimes I don't want to talk to anyone about it.  But sometimes it helps."  She was surprised to see him searching her eyes intently.  "Do you want to talk to me about how you're feeling?"  Angelo shook his head, keeping his eyes on her.  Her heart sank a little.  They needed to draw him out, somehow, but...

He suddenly reached across the short distance between them with his good hand and put his palm on her forehead, his fingers atop her head.  "Feel," he said.  The abruptness of the gesture startled her, but she held still.  He would not intentionally hurt her, she knew.  "Feel," he said again, urging her to understand.

How much did he understand about her abilities?  As far as she knew, none of them had ever discussed it with him.  Of course, he was particularly gifted in his own empathic skills.  But could he intuit that she, too, had a special sense?

Floundering for a foothold, she thought, Jon, Sydney, I need you.  What do I do?

"Sad.  Afraid," Angelo said.  "Friends gone.  Sad," he repeated for emphasis.

He knows, she thought, at least he feels.  He does instinctively what Jon was teaching me to do – to "brush-by," get an impression, and figure out the rest of the picture.

"I want to try to help," she said.  "Do you want that?"

He nodded, his face screwing into a half-smile of agreement.

"Listen, Angelo – do you understand that I don't 'feel' things quite the same way you do?"  He gave her no signal that he did or did not.  She tried again.  "You feel the way other people are feeling.  That's how you do it.  I'm not as good as that as you are.  I've only started to learn how."  Unsure if this was making sense to him, she felt no choice but to plow ahead.  "I learned another way first – to see other people's thoughts.  You feel what they're feeling – I think what they think.  Do you get what I'm saying?"

He once again reached out for her hand.  "Feel you," he said patiently.  "I know, you feel me," she said.  On a hunch, she summoned all the fondness she felt for the troubled young man, concentrating on her feelings of affection and friendship for both Angelo and Tim.  It was a good move.  Angelo responded in kind.  "Friend," he sighed.  She felt his happiness and satisfaction.  Her next thoughts were of security.  "Safe," he responded.  "Trust.  Friend trust.  Friend help."

Jarod let himself quietly through the door.  He caught Grace's eye, nodded, and moved swiftly into the kitchen.  He stationed himself at the kitchen table, trying to be unobtrusive yet nearby, just in case.

"Angelo, do you want to tell me why you have been upset?"  Angelo dropped his eyes to his lap, glancing up at her briefly, then nodding at his knees.  Grace gathered herself – and reached for Angelo's mind.

Jarod was alarmed at seeing Grace's reaction.  Her eyes flew open wide and she gasped deeply.  He leapt from his chair and flew across the room, calling her name.  Angelo was frightened both by the extreme confusion he felt in Grace and the fear emanating from Jarod.  Angelo backed away from Grace until he felt the wall behind him.

"Grace!  Grace!"  Jarod had her by the arms, then let her go, afraid of physical contact with her.  He fought for her attention.  "Come back to me, Grace.  Come back to me!"

With agonizing slowness, she focused on his eyes.  She sluggishly reached out a hand and braced herself on Jarod's shoulder.  "I'm all right," she managed.  She looked past Jarod to Angelo, who had slid down along the wall until he was hunched on the floor, his hands to his mouth.  She made to rise and Jarod tried to overrule her.  "Just take it easy," he said.

Grace shook her head.  "I'm okay, Jarod.  Really."  Her focus returned to Angelo.  She moved toward him and squatted down.  

"Afraid," said Angelo, hardly audible.  She shook her head slowly.  "I'm not afraid, Angelo."

"Well, I am," said Jarod, hovering nearby.  

Grace took Angelo's face in her hands.  "Angelo, I'm all right.  You didn't hurt me.  I tried to feel you the way you feel me.  There was just so much to feel at once, that I was a little – overwhelmed.  But we're both okay, aren't we?"  She smiled.

Slowly, Angelo met her eyes.  She stood and held out a hand to him, helping him to his feet.  She extended her other hand to Jarod.  

"We're all okay here.  No one got hurt, just a little scared.  Maybe we should talk a little before we try that again, huh?"  She knew by the way Jarod had reacted, afraid to touch her that he was terrified that she would be overtaken as she was before.  And now with both Jon and Sydney dead, he had no idea how to help her if that happened.

All three sat on the couch.  "First of all, Jarod, it wasn't like before.  Angelo didn't flood me with his thoughts.  It was more like... I don't know how to describe it.  Kind of like being in a kaleidoscope, I guess is the best way to put it.  There's so much to sort out from what I felt in Angelo's mind."  She turned to look at Angelo.  "What would have been a simple impression from most other people was very complex in you, Angelo.  It was beautiful in its way.  Colorful, iterating and reiterating.  Reflecting so many things, like looking into a faceted jewel."  She looked back to Jarod, unsure how to continue.

Jarod looked at her closely, still unable to put his fear to rest.  It was Angelo who stepped in.

"Confused.  Not scared."  He looked meaningfully at Grace, then back to Jarod, to whom he was speaking.  "Not hurt," he added helpfully.

Finally Jarod relaxed a little.  "I don't think you should try that again for a while," he said.  "Maybe take some time to sort it all out, like you said."

Grace agreed, tentatively.  "I'll need some help to do that.  Think you guys can handle the job?  I'll need to do a lot of talking, and ask a bunch of questions.  Will that be all right?"  Each nodded.  

Jarod added, "What about Tim, Angelo?  Will he help?"

"I'll help," Tim answered.

***   ***   ***   ***   ***

In their eagerness to help Grace, Tim and Angelo cooperated with each other in answering her questions and explaining images.  As the day wore on, Angelo retreated further and further, allowing Tim to do most of the talking.  

One point, though, caused a brief return to turmoil as Grace broached the subject.

"I felt something a little – odd, I guess.  I'm not sure if I'm interpreting it correctly.  Tim, I had the impression that you were thinking about the Centre.  About being in the Centre."  Tim nodded convulsively, glancing around as if he was expecting someone to sneak up on him.

"Why is that odd?" Jarod asked.  "We already know that Tim was there for much of Angelo's experiences."

Grace looked at Tim.  "But Angelo wasn't in this image, was he?  Just Tim."

Tim's face screwed up with internal conflict.  Angelo emerged, violently and briefly.  "No!" he shouted.  "No!  Timmy not go back.  Hurt!"  

Tim fought his way back to dominance.  "Quiet!  Go away!  I want to tell them."

Angelo's internal reply was almost audible to the others.  All that escaped was a slight whine as the two personalities spoke in rapid imagery.  Tim stayed in control, however, and forced Angelo to wait for him.

Tim looked diligently at Jarod and Grace.  "Angelo and I are disagreeing about this.  I want to go back to the Centre; Angelo doesn't want me to."

"Back to the Centre?  Why?"  Jarod was amazed.  Grace was frightened, immediately flashing back to her own short-lived first attempt to leave.  Was Tim now feeling what she had all those years ago?  Unable to cope with life outside his prison?

"There are things you need there.  Files.  Discs.  I can get them for you."

"Tim, no.  We'll get them somehow.  You don't have to go back there," he assured Tim.  

"You can't.  They're hidden.  Angelo hid many things, all over.  I know how to find them; you do not."

"You can tell me.  Draw me a map.  But you don't have to go back."

Tim smiled indulgently.  "Angelo and I used to get in and out undetected all the time."

"The Centre is on high security alert since they found..."  Jarod paused, looking at Grace and swallowing.  

"What is it?" Grace asked.

Jarod's voice dropped a tone.  "Since they found out Jon was with Sydney and me, when they killed him."  Jarod had discovered this fact a week earlier.  "They've pulled out all the stops.  There's no way anyone could get in and out now."  They had been extremely lucky when they had gotten Angelo out, Jarod now knew.  He shivered at the thought of what might have happened.

"How long will they be at this level of security?" Grace wondered.  Maybe if they just bided their time...

"I don't know.  I haven't seen a precedent for this kind of activity there.  It could be for just a few months, or..."  Jarod paused.  "It could be new standard operating procedure."

They were silent for a moment.  Tim spoke first.  "I could walk back in like Grace did, pretending I didn't like being away..."

"No!" the others spoke simultaneously.  

Tim's tone was reasonable.  "Why not?"

"Well, because... because they wouldn't believe you," Jarod said.  "They'd hurt you again.  Listen, Tim – they know you left with Sydney and I.  They have it on surveillance – I've seen the records.  They're not going to trust you."

"I don't need them to trust me.  They need my talents – they'll take me back."

Grace spoke up.  "Tim – they'll use you to try to bring Jarod back.  They'll let him know that they will hurt you if he doesn't return."  Grace continued as gently as she could.  "Tim – Angelo is more useful to them as bait, as a hostage.  They won't hesitate to use you as such."

Tim looked at Jarod.  Jarod's eyes pleaded with Tim.  "Don't come back," Tim said to him.

"I'd have to," Jarod said.  "If you go back, I go back with you."

"No one is going back," Grace said.  They looked at her, a little taken aback at the uncharacteristic tone of high-pitched urgency.  If they didn't know her better, they'd have thought she was verging on hysteria.  

"If they see any one of us walking in there, we'll never get out again – alive," Jarod said darkly.  

The rest of the conversation went nowhere.  When they finally rose to make dinner, Grace's thoughts kept returning to something Jarod had said.  "If they see any of us walking in there... If they see any of us walking in there... see any of us..."  Now why was that sticking in her head so stubbornly?  Jarod was one hundred percent certain there was no way in that was undetectable – even the air shaft openings were under surveillance.  That little fact had given Tim pause.

***   ***   ***   ***   ***

"...stop analyzing.  This isn't so much of an analytical process as a creative one.  Trust yourself.  Create the rest..."

Jon's words echoed in her head as she awoke, tears still spilling down her cheeks.  She listened to the night's sounds, striving to recapture his voice against the backdrop of wind.

Nothing.  Drawing a shaky breath, she sighed.  The LED of the alarm clock at bedside read 2:11.  Grace sat up and hung her legs over the side of the bed.  The thin rug was no protection against the cold of the Idaho night.  She pulled on a pair of socks and a sweater and got up.  She wanted no more of sleeping, and dreaming, tonight.

Opening her bedroom door softly, she padded down the hall.  The cabin was quiet; not even any snoring tonight.  She paused at the door to Sydney's bedroom.  Placing her palm on the wooden surface, she felt her heart ache with the emptiness.  Almost a month had passed, but the pain at times was still as raw as during those first days.  She decided not to enter.  

Snagging two afghans as she passed by the couch, Grace tucked her feet underneath herself in the armchair.  Her eyes were wide open, but voices echoed again as in her dreams.

"... then create the rest... are you afraid you might be tempted to misuse them?... create the rest..."

"I miss you both so much," she murmured.  Unaware of the tears tracing fresh paths down her face, she listened again.  "...just get an impression, then create the rest... if they see any one of us... create the rest... see any one of us... create an impression... I could walk back in like Grace did... are you afraid?..."

Her eyes closed and she was eight years old again, hiding in the Centre sub-levels, waiting to be discovered.  She knew Dr. Raines would be along shortly.  She was hiding, not from him but from the rest of the world.  Hugging her small frame tightly, she hummed frantically, under her breath.  Hurry, hurry.  Rain, rain, go away, come again some other day.  Rain, rain, go away...  She sensed the doctor nearby, but he was not coming her way.  Raines, Raines, come this way, she urged him in singsong thought...

Her head jerked as she awoke with a violent start.  Jarod was standing by the woodstove with a stick of wood in one hand, watching her.  "Did I wake you?" he asked. 

"What time...?"  She looked around; it was still completely dark outside.  

"Just about five," he said.  Have you been out here all night?"

She shook her head.  "Just a little while."

In the dim light of the lamp he had lit, Jarod finished feeding the stove and crossed the cold floor, sitting opposite her on the couch.  He noticed the dark circles under her eyes.  "Why don't you go back to bed?  You look like you could use some more sleep," he said, a little tactlessly.

"No, I think I'll make some tea."  She made no move to get up.  

"Nightmares?" he asked.  

She rolled her eyes.  "Starring the original bogeyman himself.  Raines."  Jarod pretended to shiver.  It brought a laugh.

"I was dreaming about going back to the Centre, when I was small.  I was hiding, waiting for Raines to find me.  I remember thinking..." she trailed off.

"Thinking what?" Jarod asked.

She held up a hand, shush, give me a moment.  She couldn't quite put a finger on it, but the germ of an idea was forming, just out of reach.  

"What were we saying last night?  When we were talking about going back to the Centre?"

"We were talking about not going back to the Centre," Jarod insisted.

"I know – but what were we saying?  Something about them not seeing us..."

Jarod recalled his words.  "I said that if they saw any one of us, that we'd never get out again."

Grace latched on to that.  Any one of us... saw any one of us... Damn!  She was almost there, she felt...  She looked at Jarod.  "Can you recall the whole conversation, word for word?" she asked with quiet urgency.

He didn't understand why she wanted to hear it again, but he complied.  She closed her eyes as he narrated, picturing them all sitting there only hours before.  This time, though, there was none of the defensive tension, but rather she sought words and phrases like puzzle pieces.  Something had to fall into place...

Click!  "Wait– say that again," she directed.

Jarod looked at her.  "Tim said, "I could walk back in like Grace did, pretending I didn't like being away..."

She held up her hand to silence him.  Jarod was edgy, not understanding her line of thought, but nervously uneasy that it had something to do with a return to the Centre. 

When she spoke, her words were slow and deliberate.   "We need to get those records out of there, right?"

Jarod definitely did not like the way this was going.  "Grace..."

"Just talk to me.  Right?" she repeated.

"Right..." he drew out the word like a question.

"And we need to not be seen by them, right?"  

"Their security..."

Grace stopped him with a glare.  He acquiesced, "Okay, we need to not be seen by them, but..."

She overrode him.  "I know.  We're not invisible.  But Jarod, I walked out of there once before, remember?"

Jarod blinked at her.  He remembered her account of her escape from the Centre.  Click!  In a flash, he understood where she was going with this.  Could she really be thinking she could do it again?

Grace gave him time to catch up with her thought process.  It didn't take long – she watched the expressions roll rapidly over his face: confusion, thought, understanding, and finally incredulity. 

"No.  Absolutely not.  You can't be seriously thinking that."

"Thinking what?" she asked, wickedly enjoying his discomfort.  The thought that they might finally be able to do something, to move against the Centre, was lifting her spirits. 

"That... that you could possibly walk in and out of there again."

"It might be possible."

"Grace, just stop it.  We'll find another way."

"Do me a favor – hand me that paper and pen, okay?" she asked.

He was put off-balance with the request.  Giving her the items, he tried to reason with her.  She smiled and nodded, saying nothing but scrawling a few lines, then tearing the yellow sheet off the legal pad, she folded it and handed it to Jarod.  He distractedly stuffed the paper in his pocket without looking at it, still listing the myriad of reasons why this was an exceptionally bad idea.  He walked into the kitchen and drew a full glass of water from the tap.  "Do you want a glass of water?" he asked?  

"No, thanks," she said.  He took a sip, and then dumped the rest down the sink.  He put the glass down on the counter and returned to the couch. 

Jarod plopped down, satisfied that he had made his point.  Crossing his arms in front of his chest, he challenged her to disagree.  "Well?"

She smiled at him.  "Check your pocket."

"What?"  She only continued to smile, and gestured with raised eyebrows at his pocket.  He was annoyed with her lack of response.  Couldn't she see reason?  He dug into his jeans.  He was surprised when his fingers encountered the paper.  Pulling it out, he looked at it suspiciously.  What was... oh, yeah, she had just given it to him, hadn't she?  Apprehension seized him with icy fingers.  He did not want to open it.

Almost against his own volition, he unfolded the note and read "Jarod will now go get a glass of water, offer me some, drink a little, and pour out the rest.  He will put the glass down upside down."

Luckily Grace had resisted the temptation to tweak him further; she had considered adding a little smiley face at the end of the note, but had thought the better of it.  He would definitely not be amused.  

And amused he wasn't.  He read and reread the note, fear growing in the pit of his stomach.  He turned to look at the glass on the counter, mocking him ludicrously. When he looked back, his eyes were wide, his tone malevolent.  "Did you do this?  Did you make me do all this?"

Grace tried her best to be reassuring but firm.  "You had to see it for yourself, Jarod.  It won't happen again, I promise."

"You were in my mind?"  His voice rose with a mixture of anger and fear.  

"Jarod, listen.  Yes.  I put the suggestion in your mind.  It was not 'mind control'.  I did not make you do anything against your will.  I planted the suggestion in such a way as to make you think it was your own idea."

"What's the difference?"  He was losing control of his emotions.  She had purposely gone into his mind, with neither his consent nor his knowledge.  That was just what she had always claimed to abhor.  His eyes narrowed now as his anger flamed.  "I thought you found this type of thing disgusting.  You certainly had no qualms about doing it just now." 

"You're wrong about that," she said quietly.  

He would have none of it.  "Just stay out of my mind!"  He stormed back to his bedroom and slammed the door behind him.  He breathed heavily and paced back and forth in the small space.  How could she have just... just... invaded him like that?  What had she called it?  Mental rape? 

He turned to see Tim standing in his doorway.  No doubt the slamming door had awakened him.  Jarod was still furious with Grace.  "Get out of here!" he barked.  Tim closed his eyes, but did not move.  Jarod reined himself in somewhat.  "I'm sorry.  I'm just very angry right now.  But not at you."

Tim opened his eyes again.  He shook his head at Jarod sadly.  "Listen to her."

Jarod turned his face away from him.  "Just leave me alone, okay?"

After a moment, he turned back to see Tim had left without a sound.  Jarod dropped onto his bed, throwing one arm over his eyes. 

***    ***   ***   ***   ***

Feedback can be sent to pangurban42@yahoo.com - and thank you. 


	11. Mindgames Part 11

Mindgames – Part 11

by **Pangur Bàn**

Rating (PG, PG13, R) : PG13   
Spoilers : probably

Disclaimer:  Steven Long Mitchell & Craig W. Van Sickle created the characters of the television series "The Pretender."  This fan fiction is purely for entertainment purposes (chiefly my own, admittedly.)  No profit is being made here. No infringement is intended.  

 *****     *****     *****     *****     *****     *****     *****     *****     *****

Much later that morning, Jarod emerged from his room.  He walked past Tim without a word and out of the door.  He went to the garage, intending to get the Expedition and go into town, mainly to get away from Grace for a while.  He stopped when he saw her standing next to the vehicle.

"Excuse me," he said menacingly, trying to move between her and the driver's door.

"Jarod," she began.

"Don't.  Just don't.  I can't talk to you right now."

"I know."

He whirled on her.  "You know what?  What I'm thinking right now, maybe?  Or maybe you just 'suggested' to me that I come out here, huh?"

"No," she said quietly.  

"How can I trust you now?"

She looked at him, pain evident on her face.  "I suppose you can't.  I'm sorry."

"I don't care.  Get out of my way."

"Jarod."  She put a hand on his arm.  He shook it off angrily.

"Don't touch me!"  He pushed past her, getting into the SUV and starting it with a vengeance.  He backed out of the garage and left her standing in the garage, too tired to cry for the friend that she knew she had just lost.

***   ***   ***   ***   ***

He stayed away all day and night.  He had no intention of abandoning them, but couldn't bring himself to be near Grace for the time being.  The following morning he called.  Grace answered, relieved to hear his voice.

"Let me talk to Tim," was all he said to her.  

She handed the phone to Tim, who listened attentively, watching Grace.  He handed the phone back to her.  She put the phone to her ear, knowing as she did so that she would hear he had already disconnected.  Putting the phone down on the table, she sighed silently.  

"He's coming back," Tim said.  Grace nodded.  

"Tim, I need to talk to you," she said.  They sat at the kitchen table.  Before she could speak, Tim's eyes grew bright with unshed tears.  "Don't go," he said.

Grace felt terrible.  "I have to go.  At least for a while.  He can't be near me right now.  If he is, he'll come to hate me.  If he doesn't already."

Tim understood only that he was losing Grace.  It was she whom he had trusted first.  "Grace – I still trust you.  I'm not angry with you."

"I know."  She put her hand over his.  "I feel it from you," she smiled.  He smiled back, just a little.

"Will you come back?" he asked simply.  

"I don't know," she answered honestly.  Tim followed her to her room, watching her pack a small bag.  "You'll be okay until Jarod gets here.  I'll call you to make sure."  Tim knew how to keep the woodstove fed, and would probably only be alone a few hours.  

"I have to leave now," she said.  Tim nodded, tears finally spilling.  She embraced him warmly, missing him already.  She looked at him closely.  "Can I say goodbye to Angelo, too?"  Tim nodded, and Angelo surfaced.  He didn't speak, but clung to her tightly.  She held him for a long moment.  "Thank you for being such a good friend," she whispered.  "I'll miss you."  She let him go slowly, and picked up her bag.  She paused at Sydney's door, looking into his room quietly.  There was nothing from there she would take, she knew, but his memory.  

At the door, she set down her bag and stepped into her boots.  When she straightened up, Angelo was holding a coat for her.  Sydney's parka.  She smiled in gratitude, and slipped into it.  "Take good care of each other," she said.  She kissed him softly and left.

The third vehicle that approached her picked her up.  She climbed in and quickly brushed his mind.  No threat there.  She settled into the seat for the ride into Spokane.  It was only after several miles that she discovered the small ceramic cat in the deep pocket of the parka.  Angelo had slipped it in there for her, she realized.  She smiled.  Thank you, my friend.  I'll take good care of it.

***   ***   ***   ***   ***

Jarod pulled into the garage, bracing himself for the encounter he knew was coming.  He was determined to stay in control of his emotions this time.  His anger had not disappeared, but he knew he could not stay away forever.  

Inside the cabin, he found Tim – no, this was Angelo – lying on his stomach on the couch, drawing with fierce concentration.  Angelo looked up as Jarod walked in.  He smiled briefly to let Jarod know he was glad to see him back and returned to his task.  A brief glance around to make sure Grace was not in sight, and then Jarod approached his friend.

"Hey, there, Hoss – what are you drawing?"

Angelo handed him the legal pad and rolled over on his back.  Jarod felt a chill as he recognized the looming stone edifice of the Centre.  Swallowing, he chose to ignore it for the moment.  "I'm hungry.  Have you eaten yet?"

Angelo shook his head.  "Hungry."  

"Let's see what we can rustle up for ourselves," Jarod said, and led the way to the kitchen.  He began opening cupboard doors, pulling out plates and glasses.  He turned to see Angelo pulling things out of the refrigerator:  a large plate of sandwiches and dishes of pudding.  Apples sat nearby.  "Well.  That was quick."

Jarod deliberately set two places at the table.  Grace would get the message, with or without benefit of her "special ability."

Angelo sat down and dug into his pudding.  They ate, Jarod saying little, Angelo saying less.  They had finished their meal and put plates in the sink before Jarod finally asked, "Is Grace in her room?"

Angelo looked down and jerked his head sideway.  "Gone."  He looked at the door.

"Gone for a walk?"  Jarod presumed she would be in the woods, probably at Sydney's grave.  He looked at the door too, and didn't see Angelo shake his head.

"Well, I think I'll take a shower.  See you in a bit."

Angelo returned to the couch where Jarod had found him, chewing on the pencil already covered with tooth marks.

Jarod showered slowly, in no rush to confront Grace.  When he emerged, the late afternoon darkness of winter was well established.  He looked around curiously.  Grace was not in evidence.  He looked at her bedroom door; it was closed.  He wondered if she was in there, but was loath to knock.

He picked up a book and settled into the armchair.  Angelo was toying with the cell phone, spinning it on the coffee table with the pencil.  Jarod read a few pages, but was uninterested.  He was uneasy, not knowing where Grace was.  He finally asked, "Did Grace get back from her walk?"

Angelo didn't look up from his pass time.  "Gone," he said.

This was not good.  It was well below freezing, and going to stay that way.  He rose angrily.  "Stupid, stupid... she knows better than this."  He supposed he had to go look for her.  "Angelo, you stay here.  I'll go find her."  Muttering all sorts of profanities under his breath, he set off for the edge of the woods.  He did not hear the phone ring in the cabin behind him.

During the next half hour, Jarod's anger was superceded by growing concern.  It occurred to him that this might not be his idea, but Grace may have planted this in his mind.  This refueled his anger briefly, but another quarter hour's searching brought the concern to the forefront once again.  There was no sign of her in the woods.  Jarod returned to the cabin.  "Is she back?" he asked.

Angelo shook his head.  

"Angelo, did she say where she was going?"

Angelo looked at him.  "Gone.  Gone away."

"What?"  Jarod stood still for a moment before thumping across the cabin floor in his snow-laden boots.  He flung open her bedroom door to find the room empty.  He turned around; Angelo was just behind him.

"Angelo – where did she go?"

"Away," he said plaintively.  

Slowly, it sunk in.  She had left.  My God, she had left.

Jarod asked, "When?"

Angelo didn't answer.  He turned back toward the living room.  Jarod followed him, removing his boots and coat.  He noticed Sydney's parka was missing from the peg next to her coat.  They sat down, watching each other.

"Angelo – can I talk to Tim now?"  Angelo looked at him for a long minute.  At first, Jarod thought he would refuse.  Slowly, though, he complied.

"She left, Jarod," Tim said.  "This morning, after you called."

"Did she say why?" Jarod asked.  He was pretty sure of the answer.

Tim nodded.  "She said you two had to be apart so you wouldn't hate each other."

Jarod nodded.  "I'm sorry, Tim.  Will she be back soon?"

"She doesn't know.  She called a little while ago, when you went out.  She wanted to make sure you had gotten back all right and that we were okay."

"Where is she?"

"She didn't say, and Angelo didn't ask."

Jarod spoke quietly.  "I'm sorry she had to leave, Tim.  Maybe in a little while she can come back."

"She's sorry she had to leave, too," Tim said sadly.  He got up to put a few sticks of wood in the stove.  Closing the stove door, he wiped his hands on his pants and turned to Jarod.  "I'm going to bed."

"It's still early."

"I know."  Tim started down the hall.  He stopped and turned when Jarod called his name.  

"You don't have to worry about us, Tim.  I'll take care of you, and Angelo.  We'll all take care of each other."

Tim looked at him plainly.  "I'm not worried about us."  He closed the bedroom door behind himself.

***   ***   ***   ***   ***

Grace had spent the night in the first cheap motel she found.  She had eaten in a nearby restaurant, Chinese food.  While waiting for her order, she glanced around.  Typical Chinese restaurant decor, from the shell pictures to the tasseled light fixtures... her breath caught.  It was a painted fan.  On it was the figure of a cat, sitting upright, it's paw raised as if in greeting.  She reached into the pocket of the parka on the seat beside her. She withdrew the little ceramic cat Angelo had given her.  It had the same raised paw.  Was it a coincidence, she wondered.

"Maneki neko."  The waitress set a pot of tea down in front of her.  "Excuse me?" Grace smiled.  The waitress indicated the figurine.  "Your cat.  Maneki neko – the beckoning cat."

Grace looked up, excited.  "This was a gift.  Can you tell me about it?"

The young waitress laughed.  "Sure.  The maneki neko symbolizes wealth and good fortune.  He is telling customers to come in.  There are legends connected with it – something about saving an emperor's life and a temple.  I don't remember the story any more."  She dropped her voice, conspiratorially.  "Actually, it's Japanese, not Chinese.  But it adds to the atmosphere, I guess."  She looked around at the brightly colored bits and pieces of "atmosphere," grinning.  She noticed another customer ready to order, and excused herself.  

"Maneki neko," Grace repeated to herself, and carefully secreted the small statue once again in Sydney's pocket.  

She called Angelo from the motel room.  "Hi, Angelo, it's me."  Angelo was pleased to hear her voice, she knew.  It was odd, but she seemed to feel him pretty well over the phone line.  A little clearer than in person, as a matter of fact.  Less – confusing images.  

"How are you doing?  Did Jarod get back?" 

"Jarod's back."  Grace felt for images again.  It was certainly easier to communicate with Angelo this way, given his tendency for limited words.  

"You guys ate, right?  And he's out in the woods now?"

"Looking for you."  Grace was a little startled at that.  "He doesn't know I've left yet?  Angelo, you have to tell him when he gets back, okay?"

"Tell."

"I found the cat.  Thank you, Angelo.  I would have forgotten it."

"From Sydney.  Don't forget."

She spoke softly.  "I won't."

Grace hung up the phone, surprised at how tired she was.  One last reach around to make sure there was no danger, followed almost immediately by sleep.  And dreams, of course.  The morning found her awake and, if not rested, at least ready to get down to work.  She knew she had a lot to do before she was ready to go back to the Centre.

***   ***   ***   ***   ***

The next several days were spent mostly in public places.  Grace was learning more and more about manipulating minds.  She refused to think about the ethics of the situation.  She had never believed the old "ends justifies the means" business, anyway.  It was bound to be a losing battle, so she simply buried herself in her task and ignored the nagging, accusing whispers of her conscience.  

By day she was occupied with pushing people around, as she thought of it.  She found it relatively simple to plant a suggestion in someone's mind, if she were only concerned with trying to affect one person: turn a corner, pick up an item.  Suggesting the same thing to two or three, however, proved to be extremely difficult.  Her first few attempts were badly botched, and left her subjects a little dazed and uncomfortable.  Slowly, though, she began to see more and more success for her efforts.

At the end of the day, she'd return to the motel room, mentally exhausted.  The first nights were fraught with headaches and nausea; the next few nights she had only headaches.  As her successes became more and more consistent, she suffered less and less.  

After six days of experimenting on Spokane, she felt ready to attempt a much greater test.  

***   ***   ***   ***   ***

The department store was gaily lit, but the holiday shoppers were full of anything but holiday cheer.  Grace was elbowed, pushed and sworn at as harried people tried to get their selections rung up before the store closed.  

Sweating a bit inside the parka, she realized that she was fidgeting.  This will not do, she told herself firmly.  Forcing herself to slow her breathing, she strove to calm her thoughts.  

The store had announced its closing fifteen minutes ago.  Grace had watched as the people around her rushed to get everything to the checkout counters.  Taking a deep breath, she launched herself into her task.

The woman headed directly toward her did not see her.  Grace saw to that.  The problem was not in making the woman ignore her, but in making herself inconsequential.  Grace didn't want to be knocked down, after all.  The woman shopper loomed large; Grace ignored the instinct to step out of her way.  At the last moment, the woman stepped around Grace with no second thought about why she might be swerving in her path.  

Okay.  That's one, Grace told herself.  You knew you could do that.  But now it gets a lot harder.  Mentally steeling herself, she widened her focus.

At first she stood to the side, subconsciously directing various activities.  A sour clerk made the wrong change, a young woman laughed for no reason at all.  Soon, she began to move among them, directing and redirecting attention as the crowd thinned.  Standing in plain view, she watched as the store's doors were locked and the clerks went about securing cash drawers and perfunctorily straightening displays.  They left in two's and three's, a security guard letting them through the door.  Less than an hour later, she was left standing on the sales floor; the guard was oblivious to her presence.  She moved about freely for a few minutes before she felt satisfied.  She suggested to the guard that he wanted to open the door and check outside briefly.  He took no notice of her as he held the door for her.

On the street, she stood still for a moment.  Her hands were shaking badly, but she was elated.  Jon had been right after all – her potential for these kinds of skills far exceeded what she would have believed.  The mile walk back to her motel room flew by unnoticed as her head spun.  She felt slightly drunk with the effort, and with her success.  

That night, she slept, deeply and dreamlessly.

***   ***   ***   ***   ***

Jarod was irritable.  Angelo had become more and more withdrawn as the week had worn on; Tim appeared rarely.  Jarod would not admit to being concerned about Grace's safety.  He told himself instead that she was irresponsible for leaving Angelo like she did.  Angelo and Tim needed her, and she was letting them down.  Neither would he admit to his share of the blame; it was his unmitigated anger with her that prompted this separation.  It only occurred to him that she was being childish and vindictive, and hurting Angelo and Tim.  

Jarod had not visited Sydney's grave since looking for Grace the day she had left.  He had no one to turn to for support and reassurance; nothing he was doing seemed to be helping his friend.  He waited for the phone to ring, rehearsing what he would say to her.  He planned to give her a piece of his mind, and not one that she would have wanted to take, either.

He resisted the temptation to track her down.  Let her stew, he thought.  When she finds out the damage she was causing, her regret would serve her right.  

Jarod wandered into Angelo's room.  The walls were covered with his drawings of the Centre.  The past few days had produced a profusion of pictures of the place, both exteriors and interiors.  Angelo was hard at work on another one.

"Hey, Angelo..."  The artist didn't look up, but Jarod knew he was listening.  Getting down on one knee beside the bed, he fought for Angelo's attention.

"Angelo, look at me."  Capturing his eyes, Jarod smiled.  "What do you say we go for a drive?  We need some supplies."  

Angelo returned to his drawing.  Frustrated, Jarod reached for the pad and pencil.  "You can do this later.  Come on."  Angelo's eyes followed his things as Jarod laid them on the bed, but rose to follow his friend.

The trip to Coeur d'Alene was quiet.  Roads were in fair winter driving condition in spite of the wet snow falling, and the shopping was uneventful.  Angelo watched Jarod scanning the crowd as they shopped.  He knew that Jarod was hoping to see Grace; he knew as well that Grace was not there.

Back at the cabin, Angelo went directly to his room.  Jarod's frustration mounted.  He put away the supplies alone and sat in the armchair, trying to come up with some solution to Angelo's current state.

The ringing phone galvanized him.  Angelo appeared like magic, looking at the phone expectantly.  Jarod forced himself to count to five rings before picking it up.  He gave no greeting, simply waited for her to speak.  No one else knew this number, after all.

"Hello, Jarod," Grace said.  Oddly, Jarod could not think of what he had planned to say to her.  He was surprised to find his anger was less than he thought it would be.

"Grace.  How did you know it was me and not Angelo?" he asked, surprising himself yet again.  It was supposed to be an accusation, but did not come out that way.

He heard her smile into the phone.  "Your breathing.  It whistles when you have a cold.  Been playing outside?"

He smiled in spite of himself.  "We went into town today," he told her.  "We were getting low on chocolate milk."

Grace was encouraged and relieved by his tone.  "How are you doing?"

"We're getting along..."

"I meant, how are you doing, Jarod?"  The pause was pregnant and honest.  "We left things pretty bad between us."

The rest of Jarod's anger seemed to evaporate.  "I was very hurt by what you did to me, Grace."

"I know.  It wasn't right.  I'm truly sorry, Jarod."

"I know you are."

"Are you still mad?"

"Can't you tell?"  Maybe not all the anger had disappeared, after all.

"I'm asking you."

He sighed.  "I'm sorry.  Maybe a little.  More hurt, I guess."

She was quiet.  "It's my fault.  I had no right to do what I did."

"Are you coming back?"

Grace didn't want to answer that, just yet.  Instead, she asked, "How are Angelo and Tim?"

Jarod looked at the young man watching him closely, a half-smile on his face.  "Standing right here.  Want to say hi?"

"In a minute.  First, I want you to tell me how they are."

"Very quiet.  Almost non-communicative.  I haven't seen Tim more than two or three times since you... since I got back.  I don't seem to be helping either him or Angelo much."  This was not an accusation, either.  "We need your help."

At her end, Grace closed her eyes.  "Let me speak to him."

Jarod handed the phone over.  Angelo took it happily, more animated than he had been in many days.  Jarod watched him closely, thinking, come home, Grace, we all need you here.

Angelo turned and scurried into his room with the phone.  The abruptness of it left Jarod amused.  "Well, if you wanted a little privacy, all you had to do was ask," he called after him.  Settling back into his chair, he waited.  Please don't hang up, Grace, he said silently.  

Angelo stayed in his room with the phone for more that ten minutes, and Jarod had begun to think that they had indeed disconnected when Angelo returned, holding out the phone.  Jarod took it eagerly.  "Grace?"

"I'm here."  Her voice was welcomed on the other end.

"Where are you, Grace?  We'll come get you."

He heard her sigh lightly.  "Not quite yet.  Maybe in a little while."  
  


"If it's because of me..."

"No, it's not that, Jarod."

"...we'll work it out.  They need you, Grace."  He paused.  "We all do."

"I need you guys, too," she replied.  His heart warmed.  "But there's something I have to do first," she continued.

"Whatever it is, we can do it together.  Don't let what happened stop you from coming back."

"Jarod, nothing makes me happier than to hear you say that.  But I don't think I deserve that kind of consideration from you, not yet."  Her tone was dark and tinged with pain.  Jarod wondered what she meant.

"Take care of yourselves, Jarod.  If all goes well, you should be hearing from me soon."

"What do you mean, if all goes well?  Grace, are you in some kind of danger?"  His heart beat faster as he spoke.

"Don't worry about me, Jarod.  I have to go.  I love you guys."

"Grace, wait..." she heard him saying as she hung up.  Pulling at the tense muscles in the back of her neck and shoulders, she turned to the dresser and began packing her few things in her bag.

***   ***   ***   ***   ***

Jarod looked at Angelo.  "She says she misses us," Jarod said.  Angelo turned away from him, a quiet moan escaping.  Jarod stood and put his hand on Angelo's shoulder.  "She's worried about you both.  I hope she'll come home soon."  Angelo's shoulders hitched convulsively.  Jarod turned him around gently, and was shocked to see the torment Angelo's face.  "Angelo, what is it?" he asked, searching.

Angelo's face grew angry.  He tried to throw Jarod's hands off his arms, but Jarod held on.  He fought wildly.  Jarod remembered the broken window, and restrained him in a bear hug.  "Angelo!  Angelo, don't!"  Slowly, the young man grew quiet, and Jarod pulled back to see tears streaming down his cheeks.  "Angelo... what is it?" he asked again.  

"Don't go," Angelo mumbled.  Jarod did not understand.  "Go where?  Who?  Talk to me, Angelo."  Slowly, almost reluctantly, Angelo dug a folded and crumpled piece of paper out of his pocket.  Jarod took it from his hand.  It was another of his drawings of the Centre.

"The Centre?  What..."  Awful realization dawned on Jarod.  "Angelo, is Grace going to the Centre?" Angelo looked at him wretchedly, miserably.  

"She's going to get the files you hid there, isn't she?  That's what you two were talking about in your room.  She's going to try to walk in there and walk out with them."

"Angelo told her where they are."  Tim looked at Jarod, speaking quietly.  Jarod nodded, trying to think.  They had to find her and stop her.  

"So you wouldn't have to go back," Jarod said.

"He doesn't want her to go back either, but..."

Jarod looked at Tim.  "I know.  Angelo is protecting you.  Now we have to protect her.  Tim, do you have any idea where she is?"

Tim shook his head.  Jarod's mind worked furiously as he pivoted on his heel and dashed into his room.  He opened his laptop and waited impatiently for the few seconds it took to boot up. His fingers flew over the keys.  Tim watched over his shoulder as Jarod hacked into cell phone records, tracing the last call they had received. They had their answer in a few minutes, and quickly dialed the number.  

The phone rang several times before it was answered.  "Spoke-Inn Motel."  

"Grace Hanover's room, please."

"Sorry, you just missed her.  She checked out not ten minutes ago."

"This is an emergency.  Did she say where she was going?"  
  


"Airport.  Called the cab for her myself."

Jarod hung up, breathing heavily.  Once again he tackled the computer, searching for airline reservations...

"There!  Flight 647 to Boise, change planes to Salt Lake City, then Minneapolis..."  He looked up.  "Tim, we have to stop her.  We have to get to Delaware before she does."  Tim nodded.  Jarod returned to the keyboard one final time, figuring flight times, connections...it would be close, very close.  If they chartered a plane to  Denver, they might be able to beat her into Wilmington.  He called the airport in Coeur d'Alene and was told that the one charter jet based out of there had already left, but it was be a short hop, and would be back later this evening...

"Where is it going to?"

"Missoula.  Emergency medical run..."  

Jarod interrupted.  "Radio the pilot.  Tell him to refuel and wait for us.  We'll meet him there."  

"Sir, if you'll give me your number, I'll be glad to relay your request and..."

"This is an emergency.  We have to get to Denver immediately."

The voice on the other end spoke calmly.  "Give me your number and I'll call you as soon as I can confirm with the pilot," she said.  

***   ***   ***   ***   ***

Feedback can be sent to pangurban42@yahoo.com - and thank you. 


	12. Mindgames Part 12

Mindgames – Part 12

by **Pangur Bàn**

Rating (PG, PG13, R) : PG13   
Spoilers : probably

Disclaimer:  Steven Long Mitchell & Craig W. Van Sickle created the characters of the television series "The Pretender."  This fan fiction is purely for entertainment purposes (chiefly my own, admittedly.)  No profit is being made here. No infringement is intended.  

 *****     *****     *****     *****     *****     *****     *****     *****     *****

Grace's connections were less than ideal, but she planned to use the time wisely.  Airports were wonderful places to watch people, and two of her layovers afforded her enough time to observe security practices.  Of course, Centre security was bound to be a far tougher nut to crack, but she was in any case able to manipulate security personnel around in harmless but definite ways.  Still a little edgy about her ultimate task, she nevertheless settled in to the last leg of her trip, Chicago to Wilmington.  Wholly aware that napping was impossible, she feigned sleep in order to fend off attempts at conversation, preferring light meditation.

She had reviewed the information Angelo had given her.  He had responded to her request just as she had hoped.  By telling him that she would go in Tim's place, Angelo was willing to tell her how to find the records he had stashed in multiple locations in the air vents of the Centre.  It would be physically challenging to retrieve them, she realized, but saw no choice.  Harder still would be deciding which records to take and which to leave behind.  Angelo's images had been crystal clear, however, and she had a pretty good idea of where to find his most precious stashes.  She would take all she could manage, and hope for the best.  Grace had no illusions that this was more than a one-shot affair; this raid would not be repeated.

***   ***   ***   ***   ***

Jarod and Tim deplaned in Wilmington.  The flight attendant had been unable to find out for them the status of Grace's flight.  Jarod looked quickly for the arrivals and departures monitor.  Locating Grace's flight listing, he breathed a sigh of relief.  Fourteen minutes to arrival, Gate 9.  They still had time.  

The pair hurried to the gate, pushing their way through the crowd of travelers and relatives waiting to meet the arrivals or depart themselves.  A few annoyed stares didn't bother them – they wanted to be sure to see her coming off the plane.

They had brought nothing with them except the laptop and the Halliburton DSA case.  Jarod's vehicle sat in Missoula, taking up two parking spaces, where they had left it to rush for the lone jet sitting on the tarmac.  Looking out the window now, he wished he had grabbed the folding umbrella from under the seat.  The weather in Delaware was sleety and cold.  They peered out at the grey skies, straining to see the silhouette of Grace's plane.

It rolled up to the gate a few minutes ahead of schedule.  The crowd surged closer, everyone apparently expecting to see their party deplane first.  

Grace was one of the last passengers to leave the plane.  For a brief moment, Jarod wondered if she hadn't missed her flight, or worse, if they had missed her in the crowd.  It was Tim who caught sight of her first.  "There," Tim said.

 Jarod rose on the balls of his feet, the extra inch or so of height not at all useful, but he saw her an instant later.  Her head was down as she picked her way through the parties who clotted the area with hugs and tears.  "Grace!" he called.

Grace's head jerked around in surprise.  Surprise turned to astonishment as she saw them.  She couldn't prevent the wide smile of delight, in spite of the nearly instant realization of why they were here.  Stymied by a family reunion practically surrounding her, she could only wave in acknowledgement and backtrack several feet in order to get past the crowd.

Tim slipped between a large grandmother who was busily trying to gather in all of her grandchildren at once and a surly businessman who was scowling at the file he was reading.  Grace dropped her bag and grabbed him out of the crowd.  The kaleidoscope of images washed over her in joyous colors, giving her a touch of vertigo, but she held on as for dear life.  Tim was laughing into her shoulder. "Where have you been?  We've been waiting for minutes!"

She laughed back.  "I can't believe you're here!  How on earth did you get here ahead of me?!" 

Jarod finally caught up to them, shepherding his two cases carefully after initially banging a few thighs and tossing apologies over his shoulder.  He set them down and looked at her.

Tim released her and stepped back.  Jarod and Grace regarded each other for a moment; then he opened his arms.  She stepped forward into them.  

"I'm sorry," they said softly and simultaneously.  

Grace shook her head.  "You have nothing to apologize for."

Jarod squeezed her tightly.  "The important thing is that we found you in time."

The arrival crowd was thinning out, and the three of them made their way down the concourse.  They found a mostly quiet seating area and claimed a corner.

"Grace, we know what you are planning to do," Jarod said.  Grace looked at her knees briefly, then back up.  She nodded almost defiantly.  He continued, "We can't let you do this..."  She opened her mouth but Jarod finished, "...alone."

Grace shut her mouth again.  Looking from one of them to the other, she saw they were determined.  She sighed and surveyed the area pointedly.  "We shouldn't talk here."  The other two agreed.  Jarod went to the car rentals counter, leaving the bags with his two friends.

Tim reached for her hand.  Not only was he glad to have her back again as his protector, but oddly protective of her as well.  He and Jarod had talked on the journey across the country. He understood that Grace was willing to take on this enormous risk on their behalves, and that understanding had awakened in him the urge to do the same for her.  Jarod had convinced him that this was a risk that either they should all take together, or none of them at all.  Family, he had said, sticks together.

"Tim, are you doing all right?" Grace asked, looking at him intently.  Tim's smile, which hadn't completely left his face since he saw her, widened considerably.  "I'm okay.  You felt that, didn't you?  Here, and on the phone, too."

"Angelo has been pretty active recently, hasn't he?" she asked.  Tim nodded.  "He's been trying to keep me safe.  I didn't particularly want to come out, anyway.  It's been lonely without you, Grace."

"You've had Jarod there," she said, a bit surprised.

Tim's expression was sardonic.  "He's been kind of preoccupied."

"Preoccupied?"

"Well, until today he was kind of... he was busy being..."

"Angry with me," Grace supplied.  Tim nodded.  "And with himself," Tim added.

Grace smiled at the young man's insight, but didn't comment on it.  "I missed you, too," was all she said.

***   ***   ***   ***   ***

The small car moved through over the city streets delicately.  The sleet was beginning to freeze, and all of Jarod's attention was focused on getting them safely to a hotel.  Once ensconced, they discovered they were hungry and ordered room service.  Then they got down to business.

"So," Jarod took the lead, "how should we do this?"  Unwilling to talk about it, Grace joked.  "However you want to split the pizzas is fine with me, but I get some of the mushroom."  Jarod paid up with a smile, but his face was serious.  "I mean the Centre, Grace."  

She said quietly, "I know.  Let's not talk about it until after we eat, okay?"  She was answered almost immediately by a knock on the door.  All three froze, relaxing only a little when they heard the call, "Room service."  Even so, Jarod motioned the others out off to the side as he checked, then opened the door warily.  

They looked at each other gravely as they sat down to their meal.  It was as if merely being in the same state as the Centre was generating a tangible danger, inherent in everything they did.  All three realized that while this was paranoia, it was not unwarranted.

"You can't do this alone, Grace," Jarod said.  

She closed her eyes.  "I don't know that we have a choice here.  I'm not sure if I can cover anyone else."

"Cover?"  Jarod wanted her to explain what she had in mind.

Tim handed them each a slice of pizza.  None of them ate more than a bite or two – their appetites seemed to have disappeared when they heard the knock on the door.

Slowly, Grace explained what she had been doing in Spokane.  Jarod saw how ashamed she was of her actions, but saw also that she was determined to follow through with her infiltration of the Centre.

Tim was honestly puzzled at her dilemma.  He did not understand why she felt regret at using her abilities as she had.  She hadn't done anything illegal, nor had anyone been hurt, or even put in danger.  She was a good person, after all, trying to do a good thing – to stop the Centre from hurting them or anyone else, ever again.

"It's more than that, Tim," she attempted.  "Part of it is because I've never liked being able to do these things.  These abilities are so closely linked with all the bad things that have happened to me, and to those I love, that I guess I blame them, in a way."

"But that's like blaming your eyes because you saw something bad," he reasoned.

"You're right, in a way.  But in a way, so am I.  I don't think it's right to push people around, whether it's with your hands or..." she looked at Jarod, "... with your mind.  Just because you want to get something good done doesn't mean you have the right to do something bad to accomplish it."  Damn it!  This was a conversation she didn't want to have with herself, let alone with these two.

Jarod had been watching her as she tried to explain the ethics of this, as she saw them, to Tim.  He finally spoke up.  "Grace, you don't have to do this.  We can find another way."

She looked at him honestly.  "Do you really believe that?"

Jarod's answer was honest.  "No."

Grace barely nodded. "Neither do I."  

The conversation paused for several minutes.  When Jarod spoke, his voice seemed loud.

"Well, then, like I said: How do we do this?"

***   ***   ***   ***   ***

Grace had to admit that Jarod was being reasonable.  If truth be told, it was in large part due to her relief that he was no longer so hurt and angry with her that he wanted nothing to do with her.  In addition, three pairs of arms could carry away far more than she alone could have.  And Tim/Angelo could certainly navigate the air vent system far better than she

Still, she did not relish the idea of their returning to the very place that had held them captive for so long.  There was very little chance that she would be recognized on sight as anything other than an intruder.  The other two, by contrast, would immediately be recognized – if she failed to prevent it.

They decided to try a few practice runs in public, much as she had in Spokane by herself.  They made several trips to public places - the hotel lobby, the malls, a bus station – to try to get a feel for the situation.

At first Grace thought it would not be possible.  To pick up on multiple targets when they were all focused on (or rather, not focused on) her was one thing; but multiple points of focus to shield – the three of them – immediately proved to be exponentially more difficult.  As soon as she would focus on Jarod's observers, Tim's would take note of him.  When she'd shield Tim, she herself would be detected.  Mounting frustration threatened to turn to despair.

They sat at a small table in a food court, quietly discussing the crux of the problem.  Jarod watched Grace pull of a corner of her soft pretzel and toy with it, dissatisfied.  "Is there any chance that Tim can do this too?" he asked.

Tim looked up, his mouth full of taco.  Grace shook her head.  "I really doubt it.  He's shown no tendencies toward projecting empathetically, only absorbing."  Tim nodded.

Grace took a deep breath.  "I know you don't want to hear this, but I think I really do have to go in alone."

Both men shook their heads.  "No way," said Tim, dropping his taco.

Jarod agreed.  "We do this as a team.  The three of us."

"The three musketeers," Tim said.

"All for one," Jarod began.

"And one for all," the two of them finished together.

Grace had been slowly shaking her head as they spoke, but stopped in mid-shake.

"One for all?..." she repeated to herself.  "One for all..."

"Come on," she ordered, leaving the table in a rush.  Jarod and Tim looked at each other and shrugged.  Tim rose first.  Jarod lingered for one more bite of his doughnut before he trotted to catch up.

Grace was standing thirty feet away, in the middle of a junction of busy corridors.  People were swerving to miss her.  She was making faces at them, and getting no reactions.  Tim grinned at Jarod.

"Hey, watch out!"  A loud teenage boy and his girlfriend were trying to get past the two of them.  "Move it."  Jarod and Tim stepped aside.  

Grace was motioning to them to come to her.  They picked their way through the various traffic streams.  It was tough going at first; busy holiday shoppers were everywhere, laden with packages and pressed for time.  As they approached Grace, however, people seemed to be moving out of their way for them, even though it meant more crowding and jostling among themselves to do so.  The last ten feet were smooth sailing.

"Stay close," Grace said.  

They stood next to her, watching the approaching hubbub part around them and reconvene behind them.  It was fascinating; after a few minutes of this, they started to note patterns, currents in the human rivers.  Tim made faces; Jarod spoke aloud.  No one noticed.

Jarod was delighted.  "It works if we're close to you," he said.

Grace nodded, not wanting to get too distracted from her task.  To her it felt like the man who is running around, trying to keep all the plates spinning on top of their sticks.  A nudge here, a nudge there, which one next?

"Try moving out from me, slowly, she said.  

They experimented for almost an hour, figuring out how far they could be separated.  Finally Grace called it quits.  "Guys, I have to stop," she said.  "My head's spinning."  Like those plates, she thought.

Tim and Jarod led her to a bench where they sat, flush with success.

"Grace, this is amazing," Jarod kept repeating.

Tim merely smiled.  "I knew she could do it."

Grace just wanted to go to sleep.

***   ***   ***   ***   ***

Two days later, they found themselves approaching Blue Cove under gunmetal-grey December skies.  The threatening weather was well suited to their collective mood.  All three were resolved, in spite of their understandable edginess.

"It seems bigger than last time," Grace said.  Tim shivered perceptibly.

It was evening.  The Centre never slept, but like most places of business, the brunt of activity took place during the day.  Now, after eight o'clock, there were fewer people to deal with.

They would rely largely on Tim's direction.  Angelo was close at hand, edgy and apprehensive, but cooperative.  He would let Tim lead.

Jarod pulled up to the main building.  There were no extra words.  All three got out and moved directly to the front door, staying close together and walking quickly.  Their experience had shown them that they could reliably be shielded if they stayed within ten feet of Grace.  They were taking no unnecessary risks.  There would be enough risk to come soon enough.

Gaining entry to the building was simple enough.  The security guard simply let them in, not questioning who they were.  They were sure to be picked up by the security cameras; there was nothing they could do about that.  Their concern was to get in and out before anyone had a chance to evaluate what the cameras saw.  

The elevator took them down to SL-10 without incident.  The elevator doors opened to reveal two Centre employees standing in the corridor, chatting easily. They turned their heads toward the new arrivals.  _No one to concern ourselves with,_ Grace projected, and the gossipers turned back to their conversation, hardly missing a beat.  The trio moved past them without incident.

Opening an office door at random, they slipped inside.  They looked at each other silently, each still a little unable to believe what they had just done.  There was no time for discussion, though.  Jarod and Tim moved a chair under the air vent grille in the upper wall.  Tim's fingers quickly undid the screws without benefit of the screwdriver Jarod was unsheathing from a jack knife.  Tim swung the grill upward and in a flash was gone.  Jarod raised his eyebrows and tipped his head with a smile.  Grace didn't respond; she was concentrating on reaching for minds in the area, scanning for threats.  Tim was beyond the "cone of silence," as they had nicknamed it, and unprotected by her.  She and Jarod were relatively free to move about the office, but took no chances.  They sat quietly, waiting for Tim's return.

***   ***   ***   ***   ***

Jarod itched to do something.  Hacking into the Centre's mainframe would be a huge risk, and was not what they were there to do.  Roaming the corridors was also unnecessarily dangerous.  But sitting and waiting, in the very belly of the beast, was nerve-wracking.  His fingers found themselves folding sheet after sheet of paper into intricate origami figures.  After a while Grace looked over and saw the menagerie on the desktop in front of Jarod.  She smiled, understanding his nervous energy.  He smiled back a little sheepishly.  

"Maneki neko," she suddenly said.  At Jarod's puzzled look, she explained what she had found out about the cat figurine Angelo had given her.  

They were startled to hear Tim's voice from behind them.  "Here," he whispered, and then disappeared before they turned their heads.

Jarod and Grace retrieved the first batch of records from the air vent.  According to their plan, Tim would visit four different cache points to retrieve the most important documents and DSA's.  There was of course much more to be had, but more than that they could not handle.  Jarod began rifling through the files, more for something to do while they waited for the next delivery than to try to absorb it all.  That would come later.

Ten minutes later Tim was back with another deposit.  Another five minutes' wait brought a third lot.  Jarod and Grace worked to pack up the records and receive the last of them when Tim should return.

It was almost fifteen minutes before he was back.  "Here," came the whisper.  Jarod stood on the chair to hand them down to Grace.  The last double-handful of files slipped from their hands and spewed onto the floor.  Jarod hopped down to help Grace gather them.  "Tim, get down here," he said over his shoulder.

There was no reply.  Jarod looked up.  "Tim?"  He stood and looked into the vent.  It was empty.  "We said four trips.  Where the heck did he go?"

Grace straightened up.  She reached for him with her mind.  Her face blanched.  "Sydney," she whispered.

"What?" Jarod paled himself.  

Grace looked at him, more afraid than she'd been all evening.  "Sydney's office.  He wants to get something from there."

"Damn!"  Jarod looked about as though he would see a solution.  He stooped to finish gathering the documents, stuffing them any which way into the backpacks they had brought.   

"Jarod..."  He looked at Grace as she stood above him.  "He's Angelo now."

Jarod thrust the backpack at her and shouldered the other two himself.  "Come on."  Grace didn't have to ask where.

They hurried through corridors, avoiding people as best they could, blanking themselves out from the rest.  Jarod rapidly outpaced her, pulling dangerously far ahead.  Her call of "Jarod, wait!" went unheeded by him.  It was, however, noted by two security guards.  Attracted by her call, they turned the corner to see Jarod slide to a stop in front of Sydney's office. The office door was, unfortunately, locked.  There was no time for finesse.  Jarod put his shoulder to the door, mustering all of his adrenaline-laced strength to pop the latch.  The pain of the maneuver never even registered.

Angelo looked up from his crouch over Sydney's desk.  He had rummaged through the desktop and was now pulling at locked drawers.  

"Angelo, what are you doing?" Jarod said urgently.  

"Hold it!" came the command from behind them.  Grace saw the security guards enter the office with guns drawn.  Jarod and Angelo were too far away from her.  Abandoning any attempt to shield herself, she stopped dead in her tracks.  She concentrated furiously, putting all her efforts into trying to snag the security guards' minds to blind them to her friends.

Jarod and Angelo saw the guards' expressions melting from fierce excitation to blank unconcern.  Angelo spotted the object of his search at last, made for the other side of the room.  "Angelo, come on!" Jarod shouted.  Angelo darted to the shelves, and turned to join his friend advancing warily on the guards who still pointed their guns at them.  

Grace was shaking with effort, unable to move from her spot.  She never heard the guard coming up behind her.  She only knew her head exploded with light as butt of the pistol connected with the base of her skull.

In Sydney's office, the guards shook off their stupor to see Jarod and Angelo only feet from them, Jarod reaching for one of the guns.  They reflexively fired on the advancing threats.

Jarod was thrown backward several feet, the hole beneath his breastbone insignificant in comparison to the exit wound under his right shoulder blade.  He opened his mouth to protest, but gagged on blood.

Angelo crumpled like a puppet whose strings had been cut.  He fell awkwardly, striving vainly to protect the prize he was clutching to his chest.  

More security arrived to find the one of the shooters checking their victims while the other covered his partner.  The guard on the floor looked up.  "Both dead," he said.  

They rolled Angelo over.  "What the hell is that?" the standing shooter asked.  His partner poked at the object with his gun.  "A busted statue.  Looks like a cat."  He picked up one of the larger pieces – the head and one raised paw.  "Piece of junk now," he said.

***   ***   ***   ***   ***

Grace slowly and painfully became aware that she was prevented from falling forward by the ropes that held her to the chair.  Her head was jerked up by a rough hand cruelly grasping her hair.  She squinted her eyes, trying to focus.  It was no good.  Blurred shadows were all she saw.

"Who are you?  What are you doing here?  How did you get these records?  Who is helping you?"  The questions were making no sense.  She struggled to concentrate on the words, but nothing came.  "Answer me!  Who are you?  Who is helping you?" A brutal slap snapped her head to the side, and she blacked out again.

When she reawakened, she stayed still, her eyes shut.  She was now lying on an uncomfortable bed of sorts, listening to the voices she felt she should recognize. 

"We must find out who was helping them.  The Tower wants answers.  The other two can't tell us now," said voice number one, wheezing and malevolent.

"Too bad those guards got trigger-happy."  Voice number two was female.  

"They were doing their job.  Actually, they were doing your job, Miss Parker."  Aha.

"My job right now is to make sure my father gets the information he needs.  And if the illustrious Mr. Raines can't produce it, I will," she threatened.  "Let me know when she wakes up.  And - don't knock her out again, this time." 

Grace heard footsteps retreating, and footsteps approaching.  Opening her eyes a slit, she saw Raines near her bed.  She grabbed his arm.

"So," he hissed.  "You're awake."

"Where are they?" Grace demanded hoarsely.  

"You'll get no help from them.  Your friends shouldn't have tried to escape.  The guards don't like that.  You might want to keep that in mind, or we'll have to dispose of a third body."

Grace was silent, but her mind cried out in pain and disbelief.  Raines disengaged her hand from his arm.  "Who are you?  Who else are you working with?  Where is Sydney?  We know he was with you in Milwaukee.  Where is he?"

Grace said nothing.  She looked at the man who had been her warden all those years ago.  She felt for his mind, needing to know if he were telling the truth about Jarod and Angelo.  In a flash, she saw it all.  The broken bodies being carted off, Raines' fury at having missed a golden opportunity to present both Jarod and the empath, hog-tied, for the pleasure of the Triumvirate and for his own play for power.  Stunned grief dissolved into a red rage.  She gripped his mind with a vengeance – for it was vengeance she would have.

"You want to know who I am?  Look at me.  Look at me!" she ordered.  Raines looked at the woman lying before him, but saw the image she would have him see – a young girl from decades ago.  He froze in understanding, even as he tried to deny it.

"You!  No – it can't be.  It's not possible!"

Grace tightened her grip on his mind, squeezing tightly, wrapping him in searing pain.  Raines gripped his head and fell to his knees, writhing and fighting for breath as his fingers tore at his own temples.  

Unstoppable now, she spun images in his mind faster and faster.  Ripping and shredding as she went, she slashed at the very fabric of his thoughts.  Raines' mind was quickly laid to waste, the damage permanent and absolute. 

It was over in a matter of minutes.  Blood ran freely from both of their ears and noses.  The door opened to admit a guard, who pulled his gun as he entered, seeing his superior on the floor.  Grace turned her attention tiredly to the newcomer.  One last task, she thought, before I'm done.

The large guard saw the woman lying on the table as she told him to see her; she was a threat, she had taken down Raines, and was now going to hurt him.  He fired again and again into her body, stopping only when the impotent clicks of his weapon awoke him from the haze he hadn't realized was surrounding him.  By then other security had arrived and surveyed the scene in confusion.  They saw nothing but Mr. Raines, crumpled and catatonic on the floor, and the female prisoner, her body macerated by the unforgiving close-range power of the bullets.  Her face, oddly enough, held the only serene expression in the room.

fin.

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